I'll Pull You From The Dark
by nonamas
Summary: My name is Kurt Hummel, and this is my statement. On the night of November 14th, I was attacked. My attacker was a man named Dave Karovfsky.The police have asked how I even survived the first time. I told them: I was saved by a boy named Blaine.
1. Chapter 1

_My name is Kurt Hummel, and this is my statement. On the night of November 14th, I was attacked. My attacker was a man named Dave Karovfsky. That was six months ago._

_It was an unprovoked attack, and the result of a hatred Karovfsky possessed towards me. I didn't report it, I don't really know why; the fear of him coming back, probably. Only, he did. __On that night he followed me home. I was alone, it was dark, and he had a knife. I tried to fight back but. . . well. I tried. He was driven, and sought to kill me. I have an idea why._

_The police have asked how I even survived the first time. I told them: I was saved. I was saved by a boy whom back then, I'd never even met before. __Twice he's saved me from Karofvsky now._

_His name is Blaine Anderson, and he's been saving me ever since._

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><p><em>Six months ago<em>

"Mr Hummel? Mr Hummel, can you hear me?"

A noise, groggy and wet, was the reply. Kurt heard the voice calling his name and that sound, but they sounded like they were coming from down a long tunnel. He tried to answer back, but he found he couldn't find his mouth.

Where was he? Why couldn't he see anything? Why couldn't he _feel _anything?

There was that noise again, like a croaking, gargling sound. Where was it coming from? The voice above him kept calling his name, and behind his eyelids he saw smatterings of reds and brilliant whites, but he still couldn't _see, _or answer whoever was calling him. He started to hear more clearly now, more voices joining the one calling his name. There were beeps and buzzes around him. The voices sounded scared. Were they talking about him?

He tried to open his mouth to say something but he couldn't feel his mouth. Terror ran through him, and through the dull pain coursing through him he felt his blood pump suddenly frantic through his ears: he couldn't see, he couldn't _move_, and around him voices were calling his name, talking about him. What had happened to him? He tried to remember, tried to slow the panic making itself known in his mind.

Flashes of broken images presented themselves behind his eyelids, unclear and seen like he were looking at shattered glass: a glint of harsh, biting silver against flesh, the bulk of a figure looming towards him, a boy, being thrown against a wall. That same boy, darting in and out of each image careening through his mind—and then suddenly there was a brilliant white light pressing against his closed eyes, and pain and consciousness and _feeling _all came back like a truck had hit him. He could see again—and unfortunately, he could feel too, _really _feel. Searing pain replaced the dull ache, and it shot through his now-there body; his lungs were on fire and every limb felt heavy and so, so sore. His face ached, and he realised the strange croaking sound was _him. _His mouth was moving and the ragged, aching sound was the only thing coming out. Kurt shut his mouth and tried to focus his vision, eyes swimming and the white light above him almost unbearable.

A face suddenly loomed over him and Kurt's eyes shot to it—a woman, from what he could make of the blur. Her eyes, a sharp, vivid green were the only things he could focus on. Behind her the white light shined around her head, giving the impression of an angel. Her mouth moved, and Kurt stared at it, the words she was saying out of sync with when her mouth moved.

"Kurt? Mr Hummel, do you know where you are?"

He tried to reply but nothing came out, just the frustrating croak again.

"He's awake!" she yelled, going out of his line of vision again. He heard her voice though, over the din of his own heart and the beeps and whirrs around him, "He's awake! Someone tell his family, and get him . . ." her voice trailed off, leaving once more the sound of blood rushing through his head, and the constant beeps from beside him.

Kurt's eyes travelled around above his head and to the sides, as far as he could. From what he could see he was in a hospital room, now almost empty, machines and tables hovering close by. He felt the heaviness of himself weigh down onto the bed underneath him.

He remembered, if only slightly, what had happened. The shattered images of glass in his head that reflected what had gone on, they only told half the story.

What had happened to him that was so bad that he was in a hospital bed, riddled with pain? What had happened to him?

A door banged from the other side of the room, and Kurt heard a voice that sent even the pain in his bones out of his mind. Relief and safety washed over him at the sound of his father's voice.

"Kurt? Kid? Can you hear me?"

His Dad, his poor Dad, leaned over him, all of Kurt's vision now filled with his father's worried face, lines drawn tight around his Dad's eyes, the creases of his mouth and foreheard pulled down into concerned despair. His pale eyes sought Kurt's and when he finally found them, Kurt watched as his Dad—his strong, brave Dad, who never let anything get to him—started to cry.

Kurt opened his mouth and tried to speak, but this time nothing came out at all.

"Shush, it's OK, son." Burt reassured, hand coming up to push the hair from Kurt's forehead, tears rolling down his grizzled cheeks. His voice was soft and breathless, broken only slightly by his crying. "It's OK. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. . ."

Kurt tried to shake his head and ask him what he had anything to be sorry for, but his head wouldn't move. He couldn't find the strength to lift it or to even reach out and take his Dad's hand. The familiar feeling of his own tears crept up his throat and prickled at the back of his eyes. He closed them, trying to hide away from the sight of his father crying but it was seared onto his eyelids. He felt a tear matt into his eyelashes and then slip down his cheek.

"Kurt?" Burt whispered. Kurt's eyes fluttered open at the pleading tone in his Dad's voice, and another tear fell. Burt watched the tear roll down Kurt's cheek and looked to his eyes again.

Kurt opened his mouth and tried again. "Da. . ." The harsh, broken breath fell from Kurt's mouth, but his Dad heard it. He heard it.

Burt's face shifted into hope at the sound, and something twisted inside Kurt at the sight of that glimmer of _hope _in Burt's eyes. He closed his own again in relief. His Dad had heard him. His Dad was here. He felt the warm press of his father's hand upon his head, and he knew he'd be alright.

He opened his eyes and looked around the room again, trying to see if they were alone.

Nearly out of his line of sight stood a figure, shrouded in the shadows of the back of the room, but Kurt could see him. He watched the boy, trying to make out his face. Then the boy stepped hesitantly, almost fearfully, into the light around Kurt's bed.

Kurt's eyes roved over the boys face, and the boy watched him in turn. Their eyes met and Kurt realised—he _knew _him.

The foggy image of a wall, a burly figure pressing Kurt against it and the glimmer of silver came to his mind, and he realised that whatever had happened to him to get him in hospital, this image he remembered was how it had happened. And in the back of that image was the same boy who now stood feet away.

He remembered the boy running, hauling the figure away from Kurt, this figure who was trying to _attack _Kurt. He remembered the boy pick him up and try to get him to run, but Kurt _couldn't, _he was too hurt and too weak.

Now, Kurt searched the boy's eyes for some clue as to what had happened after, but as Kurt stared the boy looked away.

Burt saw who Kurt was looking at and turned. The boy looked to Burt in surprise but Burt shrugged one shoulder, immediately turning back to Kurt. Kur tried to make sense of it.

"Son? Do you know who that is?" Burt asked softly. "Don't talk, I don't want you in anymore pain. Just blink twice for yes, once for no."

Kurt didn't understand why he was asking and looked to the boy again. The boy looked at him in mild concern, but Kurt saw in his eyes the raging curiosity and _fear _there. He looked back to his Dad, who looked so tired. He had no idea how bad he looked but from what he could feel, he was in pretty bad shape. His Dad must be thinking the worse, thinking that Kurt couldn't hear or understand them, or that he was in so much pain.

Kurt blinked once.

Burt looked relieved that Kurt understood, and then placed his hand on top of Kurt's. "That's the boy who stopped the attack and brought you here."

Kurt looked at the boy once more, surprised. The boy was walking forward cautiously, concern now etched across his young face. _He had saved me . . .?_ Kurt thought incredulously.

Burt looked at Blaine and then back at Kurt before saying, "His name is Blaine Anderson. He's the boy that saved your life."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Gosh, thank you all so much for you reviews and hits, it's completely blew me away! All the feedback is greatly appreciated, and I'm glad you like it! I hoped it'd make up for the four month absence of mine (terrible of me, I know). Here's chapter two! Enjoy!

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><p>"The injuries you sustained were obviously traumatic and brutal, Mr Hummel. Various fractions and bruises to your face as well as some abdominal trauma, internal bleeding, two fractured ribs, 15 stitches to your scalp, various bruises and fractures to your arms, as well major head trauma. That's where it gets bad. You have numerous fractions and lacerations to your scalp, and there's a problem. . ."<p>

Kurt let the medical terms and garb wash over him, face an indifferent mask to the nurses words, only half listening to what she was saying. He didn't take any of it in.

He'd been awake for a few hours now. His Dad had explained everything too him, filled in the blanks where Kurt couldn't: he had been coming home from Mercedes' when his attacker had struck; he'd had had a metal pole and a knife and had cornered Kurt a mile from Kurt's home.

Yet Kurt of course remembered all of this himself. He remembered the flash and tear of the knife cutting into his skin. He remembered the pain and the dark black fear that came with it as each blow was delivered. He remembered each crunch and each yell and scream that tore from his own throat.

Then there was the boy: Blaine. Blaine, who according to his Dad, had grabbed the guy attacking him and managed to hit him with the guys own pole. Kurt had gaped in shock at his Dad, doubtful that the short boy who'd looked at him with great big brown eyes filled with concern when he'd woke up could take on the very guy who'd put Kurt in hospital.

Where was Blaine now? Why had he even saved Kurt in the first place? Kurt certainly didn't know him, and any sane person would have just called the police, not tried to jump in and take on someone armed and twice their size. Burt had said Kurt had been "lucky" Blaine was there. After Blaine had hit him, his attacker had run.

Kurt's skin prickled uncomfortably at the thought that the guy who'd put him in here—in a hospital bed, broken and hurt beyond repair as they'd all thought—was still out there.

"Mr Hummel? Are you listening?"

No, he wasn't. He was too busy trying to block out the screaming in his head, the panic and fear of—of his _attacker _coming back, finding him, finishing off what he'd started.

"Yes." Kurt lied, eyes drawn to her face once more.

"Well, that's good then. . ." The nurse gave him a look that Kurt had seen one too many times before. She gave a sigh and walked round to his side, sitting carefully on the chair next to his bed. "Kurt?"

Kurt was a very internal person. No matter what his face showed, it would be nothing compared to the raging warfare inside his mind—Kurt had learnt that even the simplest emotions could show. His mask was up and every emotion pulled back behind it.,he looked at the nurse and smiled as politely as he could.

"Yes?"

She searched his eyes but of course found nothing. "I want you to know that it's OK to be feeling whatever you may be feeling right now. It's normal to feel things that-"

"I'm OK." Kurt interrupted, smiling almost serenely and staring her down. His assertiveness and the aura of confidence he gave was enough to convince her—even if it didn't convince himself.

She looked like she was going to protest but instead she sighed and got up, patting his hand as she did. "Would you like me to get your father?"

"Yes please, if you could."

She nodded, and left. Then the screaming started again.

_Why did you let this happen? Why couldn't you be stronger, why couldn't you be braver? Why didn't you fight back? He's out there and he knows you're here._

Kurt shook his head and tried to block it out, but the constant reel of accusations and taunts pounded against his head. Inside him he felt his stomach churn and the constant replay of the nights events played like a movie in his head, and he couldn't stop himself from watching it. The knife hovering over his skin, watching it move and swipe at him. The half-shadowed face snarling at him, and then it would start again, another scene fresh and sharp like the edges of glass, in his head.

The door to his hospital room opened noiselessly, the movement catching Kurt's eye. The din in his head died down for a second as his eyes fell upon Blaine.

Kurt's eyes widened in surprise. "Uh, hi. What are. . . How come you're still here?" he asked shrewdly, watching Blaine walk in and close the door hesitantly.

Blaine didn't answer. He hovered by the door and didn't meet Kurt's eye, instead smiling as he looked around the room. He gave off charm and aloofness Kurt thought wasn't exactly appropriate for the situation, but Blaine began to stroll forward, his smile so wide it looked almost comical on his face. Kurt's eyes travelled down Blaine's body and across the crevices of his face. This was the boy who'd saved his life, and apart from a few stitches in his own skull, had come out unharmed. How did that happen?

There was something about Blaine that Kurt couldn't quite place. From across the room Blaine strolled on and as he reached Kurt's bed, Kurt finally got to take a good look at him.

The first thing Kurt noticed was the unappealing uniform. Red piping and a blue blazer, it seemed to fit Blaine so easily like it was a part of him, like it were armour almost. Then there was the smile, dazzling and bright and _warm_, but Kurt could see through it easy enough. With one look at Blaine's hazel-amber eyes Kurt could see the smile was false, and some other underlying emotion was underneath. Blaine was hiding something, and was trying to mask whatever it was with a smile and a glimmer from those (albeit lovely) eyes.

Blaine came to a stop beside Kurt as Kurt still studied his face and his eyes. What was Blaine hiding? Why was he even still here at all for that matter?

"See anything you like?" Blaine said quietly, a smirk quirking on his lips.

Kurt's eyes hovered over Blaine's; he searched them for an answer but it seemed Blaine was just as good at hiding as Kurt. "Not really," Kurt deadpanned, exterior up and in full force once more, "I expected a lot more from my saviour, actually."

Blaine's face crinkled into a grin and he inclined his head to Kurt. "Something more. . .?"

"Well let's just say I didn't expect my knight in shining armour to be wearing a blazer."

Blaine laughed and sat down. "Sorry to disappoint."

Kurt smiled and then looked away. Blaine was staring at Kurt curiously; now close up the warmth and softness of Blaine's eyes intrigued Kurt. They were like windows, open and honest like the shutters had been thrown open, but like curtains had been pulled across, inviting and welcoming but hiding what really lay inside. Kurt stared and stared, trying to make sense of it, and then Blaine cleared his throat and Kurt looked away again.

"How are you feeling?" Blaine asked.

Kurt laughed hollowly, surveying Blaine with sceptic eyes. "Well there's only a few ways I can answer that, and not any of them are good. . ."

Blaine looked a little taken aback by the snark but after a moment smiled. "You're right, stupid question."

Kurt rolled his eyes and looked dead on at Blaine. "Seriously, what are you still doing here? Not that I'm not grateful that you saved my life or whatever, and I'll be eternally grateful, I really will, but. . . Well, I don't really know you, Blaine. I don't even know your last name, so is there any reason you're still here, or. . .?"

Blaine averted his eyes and shifted slightly in the chair, eyes darting anywhere but at Kurt. "I . . . I don't know. I don't know why I'm here, to be honest. Any other sane person would have shook your Dad's hand, took it in good grace, and gone but. . ." he met Kurt's eyes again and he looked at Kurt so intensely for a second that Kurt's heart jolted, "Something's stopping me from just getting up and going."

Kurt stared at Blaine, who looked uncomfortable at the scrutiny. "Blaine. . ."

Blaine gave another grin but Kurt could see clearly how forced it was this time, and it puzzled him why it was so forced. "Yeah, I know. You don't know me. 'No offence but you're just a stranger and you're creepy' and all that, yeah I get it. But I don't know, Kurt (and it irked Kurt how this stranger could say his name and it could unsettle him so). There's just something. . . keeping me here, and I think it's you." Blaine threw another look at Kurt, and it was Kurt's turn to look away uncomfortably.

It was strange; Blaine sounded bitter and hollow, almost overwhelmed by the fact that neither he nor Kurt understood why Blaine was there.

The door of Kurt's room opened again and this time his Dad appeared. Kurt saw Burt visibly relaxed when he saw Kurt was awake, and he gave a small smile. Burt's eyes landed on Blaine and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Blaine? I thought you'd gone home kid, what are you still doing here?"

"I was just going home, Mr Hummel." Blaine said quickly, already getting up and politely smiling at Kurt's Dad.

"Actually, Mr Anderson, we'd prefer it if you'd stay. We have a few questions for you, too."

Behind Kurt's Dad stood two smartly dressed police officers, their faces grave and stern. Kurt's stomach flipped nervously as they came into the room, his father following.

"Dad?" Kurt inquired, looking at his Dad as his stomach continued to churn.

"It's OK, son, they just want to ask you a few questions." Burt reassured, placing a hand on Kurt's shoulder and standing by his side.

"Mr Hummel, could you tell us what you remember?" the male cop asked, grey cold eyes boring into Kurt's.

Kurt drew himself up and, ignoring the conga going on in his stomach, feigned calm as he spoke coldly. "I'm sure my Dad or Blaine has told you everything. I only remember what they do."

"You mean you don't remember anything of the attack?"

"Well, yes. But like I said, there isn't much to add." Kurt said flatly, hands fluttering and wringing themselves together as Kurt watched the two officers.

"Do you know who attacked you? Was he someone you knew?" the woman asked, more kindly than her partner.

Without knowing why, Kurt's eyes flitted to Blaine. Blaine was watching him in interest as he answered each question—at this one Blaine leaned forward imperceptibly, eyes searching Kurt's face. Kurt looked at him for a fleeting second, mind weighing out the options and choices of how to answer—and then he looked back to the two police officers.

"No." Kurt said firmly.

"You didn't see him? You didn't even recognise his face?" the man asked skeptically.

"No." Kurt said more forcefully, tone biting and sharp, "I didn't know him. Besides, it was too dark to see anything. I couldn't see a thing." He looked at Blaine again, who wore a strange expression—almost like surprise, and then sadness. It confused Kurt, but he pushed it aside for a moment. He looked back to the police officers.

They looked at him, the man in doubt, the woman thoughtful. However they could see that Kurt wasn't going to say much more.

"How about Blaine?" the man asked. Blaine started in surprise at his name. "Do you remember what happened when Blaine got there?"

"I remember Blaine getting the pole from—from the guy who attacked me." Kurt stammered. Almost. He'd almost slipped.

He looked at Blaine quickly, who was definitely looking at him with that expression, the mingled surprise, and almost disappointment.

"Very well," the woman said after a pause, "Thank you for your time, Mr Hummel. We'll leave you in peace." She turned to Blaine. "Mr Anderson, could we talk to you?"

Blaine shot a hurried glance at Kurt, eyes slightly wide with what Kurt thought looked like panic—but in an instant it was gone. Blaine looked calm again, and he faced the two officers.

"Sure, I need to be getting home anyway." Blaine sighed. Then he turned and walked back to Kurt.

He stopped by Kurt's bed and handed Kurt a slip of paper. When Kurt looked at it in confusion Blaine smiled and said, "It's my number. I thought. . . In case you wanted to talk . . . Well, I was a part of this, and I thought it'd be better to talk to someone who knows what you've gone through, someone who was there." Kurt gaped but took the paper. He stared at the neat scrawl on the paper and the digits that Blaine had wrote there. At the bottom of the paper he read:_ Please call. I'd really, really like it if you did_.

Kurt heard Blaine's footsteps almost by the door and he looked up quickly, mouth already forming the words:

"Blaine?" he called, leaning forward in his bed.

Blaine stopped. He turned back, the expression on his face confusing Kurt again: this time it was hopeful and guarded, his eyes almost sad as he stared back at Kurt. "Yeah, Kurt?"

". . . Thanks." Kurt said quietly.

Blaine smiled sadly, his eyes boring into Kurt's, his face looking more tired and worn than it had only moments ago. "I'm really, really glad I saved you, Kurt." He raised a hand in farewell, and then left.

Kurt sank back into the pillows of his bed and stared at the space Blaine had just been.

_Me too_, he thought. _Me too_.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **So wow! After my huge absence I didn't expect to come back and post something and then get this many hits! I'm completely blown away and so grateful to you all, thank you thank you thank you for favouriting and alerting this story. I'm so grateful to all the reviews and your encouragement. Thank you so much.

In case it wasn't clear, the story starts from the beginning with the very first attack mentioned in the summary and will progress right up to the second attack. I don't think I made it very clear what the situation was, so: Kurt and Blaine have indeed, never met. No Kurt going to Dalton when Puck suggested it, no meeting Blaine, no character development or getting a boyfriend, none of it. He didn't get out of McKinley so the bullying just got worse. Karovfsky became almost demented and Kurt began to doubt himself, and whether everything Karovfsky was saying to him was true.

In this chapter Kurt reveals why he lied to the police (partly) and he touches upon how he feels- yet apart from himself and Blaine, no one does know who attacked Kurt, though they have a good idea. At the end of this chapter, in Kurt's nightmare, all is revealed about what happened and why. So this chapter is one big ball of angst- though I promise, next chapter will be completely Kurt and Blaine.

Thank you again to everyone's who's been reading so far, I appreciate you all taking the time to read it and I'm glad you enjoy it.

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><p>Kurt slipped his jacket on, hands carefully sliding down the coarse material. His felt himself again in his own clothes, and not a horrid hospital gown. In the gown he felt vulnerable and weak, like what had happened was not only on his skin but in that gown too, and it was yet another thing to remind him of the attack. For Kurt, who wore his clothes like they were emotions and feelings—like his heart were literally on his sleeve—wearing that gown was like wearing a neon sign to everyone. To be back in his own clothes and to be able to look himself again, no evidence that he'd ever been in hospital, was a relief.<p>

Picking lint of his jacket nonchalantly, he looked around his room. White walls, harsh, unforgiving lights, looming hospital machines—all what a typical hospital room looked like. Kurt's spine tingled and he ignored the horrible churning in his stomach that never seemed to go away as he looked at the room.

"Ready, kid?"

Kurt smiled in spite of himself at the voice and turned to his Dad, who was standing by the door. "As I'll ever be."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Burt's face. He walked forward toward Kurt. Kurt couldn't hide, no matter how hard he would try, from his father's piercing stare. "It's over now, Kurt." Burt said firmly. "No matter what, I won't let anything happen to you again."

"Dad, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have stopped it."

"I'm your father, I was _supposed _to have stopped it-"

"Dad," Kurt sighed, his voice sounding brittle. He stepped back. "we both know why I got attacked."

"Kurt. . ." his Dad began, but Kurt cut him off.

"I can't. . . Everyone knows it, and we can't exactly pretend-"

"Kurt, what happened to you was-"

"It's because I'm gay, Dad." Kurt said, throwing his hands up and twisting away from his Dad's reaching hand. There was silence, the statement hanging in the air. It had gone unsaid until now, but the churning, grinding pit in his stomach couldn't be held off any longer. He had to face facts. "I got attacked because I'm _gay_! It wasn't some random thing, it was a _hate _attack. And we both have a rough idea of who it was too," Kurt threw his father a knowing glance. Burt looked angry and was about to say something but Kurt carried on, "But _what can we do_?"

They stared at each other. Burt's eyes widened pleadingly though he still looked angry. He came towards Kurt again, who kept his head high, eyes averted.

"Kurt, I am not going to let this go." Burt vowed, but Kurt just shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. None of it does—so what, one kid gets a slap on the wrist for beating up the gay kid. There are twenty more willing to finish the job off." His Dad looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face, but Kurt couldn't stop. "Why do you think I lied to the police? I told them I didn't know who attacked me, but we both know I did. But even if I _had _told them, do you think they'd care? You saw the way that cop was looking at me, they don't give a crap! They know I'm gay—to them, I just had what was coming to me. It's not like anyone cares at school, so why would they care now? Because I've finally gotten _hurt?_"

The hollowness, the cold factual way Kurt said it scared even himself. Since when did he let them get to him? Since when had it ever stopped him before—why should he let this turn him bitter?

"I'm am not going to stand aside, Kurt, and let what happened to you slide—or let the bastards that did it get away with it! _I _give a crap! Since when did you not care about your rights! You of all people should be raging right now, ranting about how unfair it was that they did this to you because of who you are." Burt cried, face heating as Kurt just looked exasperated and tired.

"Who I am is enough to get me killed, Dad." Kurt sighed.

Burt looked like he was going to say something, but a babble of voices was suddenly heard from outside the door. Kurt looked at it curiously as they got louder and louder, coming closer to his room. The door opened, and the whole of New Directions tumbled through.

The chorus of "Kurt!"'s and "Hey man!"'s almost knocked Kurt backwards; he grinned, genuinely happy to see them. He laughed at them as they suddenly engulfed him in a group hug.

"Okay, okay!" he laughed, pushing at them gently until they all stood away, smiling at him in delight. "My bones have only _just _healed, I don't want you guys breaking them again."

"How are you?" Rachel asked. She was the only one not smiling—instead, she looked at him cautiously. He raised his eyebrows at her expression.

"I'm fine, Rachel, how do you think?" he replied, rolling his eyes. "There's only so much I can mean by 'alright' when I'm all bruised and such." Her eyes widened at his response and she glanced at the rest of the group.

Kurt looked at them all properly now and saw that the delighted smiles they worse were all just a little forced. There was an awkward pause as someone tried to say something. Kurt looked at each of them, wondering what their problem was. Their eyes were cautious like Rachel's, and they acted like anything they might say would set him off, like he was about to transform and grow fangs at any minute.

"Guys?" Kurt said, "Come on, the amount of awkward in here right now is upsetting my stomach." They just looked surprised at being called out. Kurt's bitch face was in place now and he glared at them all in turn. "Seriously, what are your problems? Are you all too scared to say anything?"

As one they all started murmuring, shaking their heads and muttering, "No, no of course not, Kurt. . ."

"We're just worried," Rachel insisted, "You've gone through a very traumatic experience and-"

"Traumatic experience?" he scoffed. "I'm fine!" He was beginning to get frustrated. Why would no one believe him? He was _fine. _"So I got beat up, so _what_? You guys have had worse!" he pointed to Finn and Sam and Puck, who just stared at him gravely. "You can't exactly act like this wasn't coming!"

"But the guy tried to kill you!" Tina whispered fearfully.

Kurt stared at them all, incredulous.

From behind him his Dad cleared his throat. "Uh, I think it's time I took Kurt home. Thanks for coming, guys."

They nodded and made their way out, the girls hugging Kurt, the boys clapping him on the shoulder or (in Finn's case) crushing him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, man." Finn whispered. Kurt stiffened in Finn's grip, perplexed. "I should have had your back . . ." Then he let Kurt go, and with a nod to Burt he left with the others.

Kurt gaped after Finn, and then turned to his Dad. "Not him too." He gave a frustrated groan. "Why do you all think it was your fault?"

"Well we can't help it, Kurt." Burt chided gently, laying a hand on Kurt's shoulder to calm the boy. "What are we supposed to feel? We're your family, we're meant to protect you. We've done a pretty crappy job so far."

"Oh, Dad. . ." Kurt turned to Burt and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. His Dad looked surprised for a second and then hugged Kurt back, his hands gripping tightly between his son's shoulder blades.

"You've _not _done a crappy job, Dad." Kurt whispered, closing his eyes and face screwing up in defiance. "I told you, what happened would have happened anyway, _regardless _of what you or Finn might have done. You were right though," Kurt stepped back and looked his Dad in the eye, "It's over. It's all over."

"Damn right it is," Burt said gruffly. He gave Kurt a wary glance and said, "There's no way in hell I'm letting you go back to that school either. No way I'm letting whoever hurt you near you again." Kurt raised an eyebrow and made to say something, but Burt carried on. "I know you have a hard time there kid- and you're right, we _do _know who's been giving you so much crap. It's one of those. . .those _jerks _who push you around-"

"Dad-"

"—But we just don't know which one." Burt sighed heavily. He suddenly looked so tired, and all too much like were carrying the world on his shoulders. He looked at his son, who bore a greater burden than Atlas himself. "Carole and I. . . We've been looking into transferring you for a few months now. The only reason I haven't gone up that school myself is because we can't _prove _they've been doing anything, and I know you'd kill me if I just went marching up there, all guns blazing."

Kurt looked openly surprised now. "You've. . . you've been thinking of transferring me?"

Burt rubbed a hand over his face and nodded. "Seems like an inevitability now. You're not going back to your school, I'm sorry. I'm not happy about you not telling the police who hurt you—I admit, not knowing who it was wouldn't have helped . . . And you're right— I know some of the men in that station and let me tell you, they're not all as open as I am about who you are. It wouldn't have made a lick of difference telling them, though it angers me to no end."

Kurt looked away. _It _wouldn't _have made a difference, because this is still my fault. . . _he thought. He began walking towards the door.

Burt sighed and picked up Kurt's bag. "Carole's waiting at home with enough food to feed an army. She's missed you."

Kurt smiled in spite of himself. "I missed her too."

Burt returned the smile. There was a moment of thoughtful silence as they each tended to their own thoughts. Burt watched his son; he noticed the curve of Kurt's shoulders and he could almost see the visible weight on his son's back.

Kurt felt his father behind him and kept his head down. If only his Dad knew how he really felt. If only his Dad knew the real reason why he hadn't told the police who it was. . . And the truth about _who_ it was, too.

_What are you doing? _Kurt demanded of himself incredulously. _Keeping secrets from your Dad? Who _are _you?_

But the voice didn't get it—this wasn't some push or shove into a locker that he could just brush off. This wasn't some hateful phone call his Dad could ignore. This wasn't a taunt or name, this was him being _beaten up _to the point of_ unconsciousness _and put in hospital. It felt like a knife to his heart seeing his Dad so guilt ridden and _helpless. _But what could his Dad have done?

This was all Kurt's fault.

A strong hand was at his back and Kurt pulled up a smile. He turned to his Dad, any previous thoughts pushed far out of sight.

* * *

><p>"Kurt!"<p>

Kurt laughed as Carole wrapped him up in a hug, her perfume sweetened with the smell of cooking and home, the way a mother should smell.

Carole pulled back and smiled gently at him, patting his cheek fondly. "Look at you. . . Oh, honey." Carole's eyes misted up as she took in the bruises and stitches, felt the splints and bandages around his broken ribs through his clothes. She didn't say anymore though—that's what Kurt loved about Carole. She had that knowing mothers instinct about how her child was feeling and what they wanted. She knew Kurt didn't want to talk about what happened, or anything to do with it.

"Are you hungry? A week and half of living on hospital food must have pained you, am I right?"

Kurt grinned gratefully. "Oh Carole you have no idea. What I would have given for some of your risotto . . ."

Carole laughed, eyes crinkling half shut in delight. She slid a plate of said food in front of Kurt as he sat down, and touched his shoulder. "I had a feeling you'd say that. . ."

"You're an angel." Kurt smiled fondly. His phone suddenly beeped inside his jacket. Kurt pulled it from his pocket, checking the screen.

"No phone at dinner, Kurt." Burt said, sounding like a man who'd said that same thing many times before. He and Finn sat down with their own plates, Finn already eating his before he'd even sat down.

"It's just Mercedes, Dad, give me a sec."

_To: Kurt  
>From: Mercedes<em>

_hey, u home from the hospital? X_

_To: Mercedes  
>From: Kurt<em>

_Yeah, Carole's trying to feed me up already, bless her. Do you want to do something tomorrow? I should probably catch up on all the gossip before I get back and not know what's going on. x_

Mercedes took a while to reply, which Kurt thought was strange. Then his phone beeped again, and as he read it Kurt's stomach dropped.

_To: Kurt  
>From: Mercedes<em>

_r u sure? you've been thru a lot, i thought u might not want to go out just yet x_

Kurt stared down at the text, appetite gone. He knew it. He knew this would happen, he knew they'd be like this. Why wouldn't they though? It was only normal. Why did he feel so offended though? Why did it make him sick to his stomach to think that his friends thought him so fragile and weak now?

"Excuse me." Kurt choked out, getting up from the table quickly.

His Dad looked up in concern and started to get up. "Kurt? Kurt, what's wrong?"

"I just need to call Mercedes, everything's fine!" Kurt called, running up the stairs to his room.

He ran through his bedroom door and slammed it shut, flinging his phone across the room as he did. It landed with a thump on his bed. Kurt stayed pressed up against the door, breathing deeply and trying to stop the tears racing to his eyes.

_They're worried about you, it's normal, stop being a drama queen. You're _supposed _to be not-okay about all of this. You're supposed to be—_

"I'm not supposed to be anything!" Kurt hissed under his breath. He put a head to a forehead, gripping his brows. "I don't _have _to be _anything_!"

They didn't _have _to be worried. He was dealing with this fine, and if they'd only stop treating him like. . . like some _freak _he'd feel even better_. _The way they'd been looking at him in the hospital. . .

His Dad desperately trying to find some justice for what happened, the glee club thinking he was too scared to even go _outside_. . . All of them trying to make what had happened better or just not letting him forget it at all, like they could _fix _him. They had been treating him like he was about to break down at any minute—but couldn't they give him a _little _credit?

What did he have to do to show them that he was _fine? _

He took a few breaths, trying to calm himself. With only slightly trembling hands he took off his jacket, folding it carefully over the back of his chair. He smoothed it down, a comfort mechanism of his. Something crackled as he ran his hands over the pockets and Kurt stared, puzzled. He reached into it and pulled out a sheet of paper. He smoothed out the creases and recognised what it was: Blaine's phone number.

"_In case you wanted to talk . . .__I thought it'd be better to talk to someone who knows what you've gone through. . ."_

Isn't that what Blaine had said? Blaine cared, and Kurt had a feeling Blaine wouldn't treat him like glass. Kurt looked at the paper, long fingers tapping at the edges. He'd not talked to Blaine, not even thought about him, since they'd last talked in his hospital room.

It still puzzled Kurt, why Blaine had stayed. Something had kept him there with Kurt, and apparently it'd been him. Kurt didn't understand; Blaine didn't know him. He'd stopped Kurt from being killed, that was it, but that didn't mean they had any sort of connection.

Besides, Kurt was gay. Blaine had to know that, right? And since when did any boy in the nearest hemisphere take any interest in Kurt but to punch him?

But on the hand, Kurt couldn't deny that for a few seconds on that fateful night, when Blaine had tried to help him up as he'd laid bleeding and battered on the floor, for a moment he'd thought Blaine looked like the closest thing to an angel. As he'd drifted into unconsciousness he remembered Blaine's warm eyes being the last thing he'd seen. He remembered how worried and scared they'd looked, and Kurt'd felt something lurch inside of him. As blackness had descended he remembered trying to fight it off. He'd wanted to stay with this stranger with the pretty eyes.

Kurt looked down at the paper again and questioned his sanity. He didn't _know _Blaine. He'd thanked him and now they'd gone their separate ways. Wouldn't it be better, _safer _for Blaine, if they didn't speak again? No doubt his attacker would have it out for Blaine too.

Kurt sighed and sank onto his bed, letting the paper drop. It would be easier to forget about Blaine. It would be easier to forget it all. . . Unfortunately, nobody seemed to be letting him.

* * *

><p><em>Kurt stood under the streetlamp, hands shaking with cold as he sent a text on his phone. He looked up and around, breath coming out in whispy clouds as he exhaled. Shoving his phone in his pocket he walked on, the chilly evening becoming steadier darker around him.<em>

_His feet slapped on the wet concrete underneath him. Kurt squinted into the dark, wondering why his house looked still so far away. He reached the alley leading to his street and began walking down it, the darkness lit by a lone streetlamp behind him._

_A noise behind him made him whip round; a figure, horrifically tall and wide, skulked towards him. He was completely in shadow but Kurt recognised him by his bulk._

"_What are you doing here?" Kurt demanded, the hands in his pockets balling into fists. "Why can't you ever leave me alone?"_

_The figure just laughed. He walked on towards Kurt until he came under the streetlamp. The artificial light threw light onto half of his face, making him look ghostlike and ghastly._

"_What do you want, Karovfsky?" Kurt breathed._

_Karovfsky shrugged. He kept his tiny eyes on Kurt, small pinpricks of black light amidst his pale face. From behind his back he pulled out a short, thick, metal pole._

_Kurt gasped._

"_Just to talk, Hummel." Karovfsky smiled. Karovfsky's eyes suddenly flicked around nervously, as though not even here he felt safe enough to talk about what he did. "Have you told anyone?"_

"_You've asked me this question a hundred times before," Kurt said, exasperation and panic colouring his voice. "And every time I tell you the same thing. __**No**__."_

_The smile slid from Karovfsky's face. He approached menacingly, eyes fixated on Kurt's. "I'm having a hard time believing that, fag. . ."_

"_Oh really?" Kurt spat, backing up and staring at the boy. "It's funny, you've been terrorising me for months now, you'd think by now I would have said something. You threatened my __**life**__ and I still haven't told. Why can't you get it into your abnormally large, __**thick**__ head that I'm not going to say anything!"_

_With a frustrated grunt, Karovfsky gripped Kurt by his jacket and threw him backwards, slamming him full force into the wall. Kurt's head cracked against the bricks behind him, his back screaming in protest at the hit._

"_You think you're so much __**better **__than everyone else," Karovfsky growled, fist clenching harder and biting into the skin under Kurt's clothes, "because you can throw around your big words and sarcasm, and make everyone feel so small."_

_Kurt struggled against Karovfsky's grip and looked into those black eyes with hatred. "No, that's __**your **__job. Except you do it with your fists and body odour."_

_Karovfsky's face twisted into a snarl, but then it changed. He smiled, a chilling, calm smile that made Kurt's stomach disappear. His palms started to sweat and his head throbbed._

"_There you go, doing it again. That's how I know you'll blab and tell everyone what you did to me." Karovfsky whispered. _

_He let Kurt go and Kurt dropped to the ground in a heap, his head swimming. Karovfsky stepped away, gripping the pole tighter in his hand. Dread coursed through Kurt's body as he looked at the pole in horror._

"_You just can't keep your mouth shut. . . So, I'll shut it for you." Karovfsky said. The smile grew, and he raised the pole._

_Kurt's adrenaline kicked in as he watched the pole rise and he scrambled to his feet, pushing himself up using the wall, but it was too late. The pole came down into his side with a sickening crack. Kurt screamed, the force of it knocking him too his feet again. He raised his head and saw the pole come towards him again-it hit his side with so much force Kurt struggled to even breath. Kurt felt his ribs crack and he choked soundless cries, the pain white hot inside his chest._

"_Do you know how hard it is to look at you, everyday?" Karovfsky asked, his foot coming out of nowhere and hitting Kurt square in the face. Kurt reeled back, his mind screaming at him to run. He raised his hands to his face and felt the blood gushing from his lips. He spat it out, his mouth tasting like pennies and salt. He tried to get up again, but Karovfsky jut hit him with the pole, once, twice._

"_To see you walk around the place like you own it, like you have a right to be there." Karovfsky looked at Kurt, who lay on the floor at his feet. He kicked him again and Kurt flinched away, a small whimper coming from him. Karovfsky smiled. "You don't."_

_He bent down and grabbed Kurt again, hauling up against the wall. He dropped the pole and reached into his pocket. Kurt watched him with half closed eyes, already most of his face swelling up from the kick, blood still gushing from his mouth. His ribs hurt like hell and he knew they were broken or at least fractured badly. He tried to keep his head but the pain was becoming too much. His whole body ached, the pain an endless fire through his beaten body._

_Karovfsky pulled out a knife and inched it along the exposed parts of Kurt's neck. Kurt stared at him. He'd gone __**mad**__. Surely he wasn't __**this**__ serious about someone finding out about him kissing Kurt? Unless it was more than that. Unless Karovfsky really did hate him this much._

"_It offends you that much, me being gay?" Kurt gasped, not even bothering to fight now. The knife stopped its slow dance along his throat._

_Karovfsky shook his head. "Don't you get it? It's not that you're gay, though that has a lot to do with it. It's the way you __**parade **__it around. Why should __**you**__ get to be better than anyone else? Why should you matter so much, when there's kids like me-" Karovfsky punched Kurt in his stomach, and the injured boy gave a horrible groan, "—who'll get __**killed**__ for acting like you. For __**being**__ like you."_

_Kurt stared, aghast. So this was all about Karovfsky being gay? He was jealous, because Kurt was out and he wasn't? Well, Kurt could certainly tell him, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be._

"_Who's gonna miss you, really?" Karovfsky crooned, the knife nicking into the dip of Kurt's collarbone. Kurt gave a hiss and Karovfsky smiled. "Who's gonna care that the school freak, the showcase __**gay **__kid is gone?"_

_Kurt tried to speak, but the pain wracking through his body was too much. Already he was slipping in and out, the edges of his vision tinted black. He watched the knife inch closer and closer over his skin—_

"_Hey!" a voice, sharp and loud, cut through the silence around them. _

_Karovfsky jumped, the knife jumping with him. With a small snick the knife cut into Kurt's throat—he gave a cry of alarm but it was only a cut._

_From where he was he saw a boy coming towards them, the shadows hiding his face. He looked small and stocky, not nearly big enough to take down even Kurt. _

"_Whoever you are, kid, stay back!" Karovfsky yelled._

"_Let go of him!" the boy cried. Within seconds he was on them—the boy grabbed at Karovfsky's arms and tugged, but there was no way he was getting Karovfsky to move. If Kurt weren't half out of it and terrified for his life __**and**__ the boys, he would've laughed at the boys efforts. Instead he watched with dread, a mantra of __**If he dies it's all my fault**__, running through his pounding head._

_Karovfsky gave a roar of frustration and turned to the boy, grabbing at him like he were a fly. Kurt slipped down the wall and crumpled to the floor._

_He watched as Karovfsky hurled the boy into the opposite wall with all the force of a battering ram; the boy struggled and swung at Karovfsky but he was no match for the hulking jock. Karofsky slammed the boy backwards into the wall and then let go, the boy falling to the floor._

"_No!" Kurt croaked, seeing the whole scene through bleary eyes._

_Karovfsky then turned back to Kurt and approached him, the knife still glinting dangerously in his hand._

_**I'm going to die, I'm going to die. . . **__Kurt thought, vision already dimming as he stared up at Karovfsky. Karovfsky leered down at him and delivered another swift kick to Kurt's head. Kurt felt the crack of his skull and the blood running down his already bruised and bloody face._

_A flicker of movement behind Karovfsky caught Kurt's eye. He looked behind the hulking boy and saw the smaller one who'd tried to rescue him: the boy had grabbed the discarded metal pole from off the ground and was silently treading towards Karovfsky._

_The short boy lifted the pole and, with as much force as he could muster, hit Karovfsky round the head with it._

_Karovfsky dropped to the floor but still remained conscious. He was clutching his head and yelling, the blood running from between his fingers._

_The short boy ran to Kurt, who could barely keep himself awake. Kurt felt sturdy arms wrap around him and lift him into a sitting position. Kurt tried to blink away the blackness but the pain that screamed and scorched his body was overpowering him. Each breath caused a tidal wave of agony to wash over him, the tide nearly pulling him under each time._

"_Dave. . ." Kurt whispered, looking up into the eyes that hovered above him._

_The boy shook his head and mouthed something, but Kurt couldn't hear. All he could hear was the roaring in his head, the constant wail from his own mind._

"_Dave. . . Karovfsky. He's Dave Karovfsky." Kurt whispered. The eyes widened above him and Kurt stared, revelling in how warm they looked. He felt so cold. He tried to whisper it again, but it was too late._

_The blackness washed over him completely, and he could see no more._

Kurt woke up with a cry.

He laid still, his clothes and bed sheets matted in sweat. He shivered as a gust of cold wind blew over him; his blankets were on the floor, the window wide open as he'd left it before he'd fell asleep, exhausted and still fully dressed in the clothes he'd come home from the hospital in.

He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face. It had been a nightmare that was all. Just a nightmare.

He looked up at the ceiling and tried to even out his breathing, feeling his heart beat painfully fast in his chest.

The image of the boy in his dream stayed burned into his mind. It had been Blaine.

He looked at his bedside table where the scrap of paper with Blaine's number on lay. His fingers itched to grab his phone and call Blaine, but another part of him was already telling him to go back to sleep.

"_Who's gonna care that the school freak, the showcase gay kid, is gone. . ."_

Tears prickled uncomfortably at the back of Kurt's eyes. That wasn't true. People did care. Blaine must care.

Yet the gaping hole, the constant churning pit in his stomach, convinced him otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the delay! I had planned to get this up yesterday, but real life is being troublesome at the minute and I've been robbed of time. However, it's up! I've also had to do a little changing- from how the story is now playing out, I've had to change some of the times. The first attack now happened six months prior to the second, and it was on November 14th. Sorry if this confuses anyone!

Thank you all again so much for reading and your continued support of this fic, I'm honestly so grateful to you all.

I have to warn you, this fic _will_ be loaded with angst, but there'll be fluff, Warblers and boy-kisses, oh my!

Here's chapter four, enjoy!

* * *

><p>"I have to say. . ." Blaine began.<p>

Kurt looked up, startled out of his thoughts. Blaine was tracing the rim of his coffee cup with a finger, lounging back in his chair comfortably and surveying Kurt with amused eyes from across the table.

Kurt blinked. They'd only been in there for fifteen minutes, and after greeting stiffly they got their coffee and a table in silence. This was the first time either of them had talked after they'd sat down in the warm, busy Lima Bean.

Kurt smiled automatically, pushing away any lingering thoughts. He reached for his coffee cup and smirked. "I'm sure whatever you have to say can't be any good."

Blaine gave a smile. The sight of it irritated Kurt— it looked smug, like Blaine knew exactly what Kurt had been thinking about. Kurt cast his eyes downward again, instead looking at his coffee cup. He couldn't afford to look at Blaine at the minute.

"It's just. . ." Blaine continued, tilting his head in an inquiring fashion, voice growing quieter as he spoke, "I didn't think you'd call. It was coming on three weeks. . . In all honesty, I thought you'd thrown my number away."

Kurt gave a brittle laugh that sounded wrong as soon as it came out. He stopped and cleared his throat instead. "You were mistaken." He took a sip of coffee, using it to gain himself a little time to think and not have to talk to Blaine.

He didn't know why he'd called Blaine. Maybe seeing the constant looks of pity and worry had finally pissed him off until he couldn't take it anymore. He'd needed to see something _other _than the faces of those around him.

He'd been fine at first. He was allowed to stay home from school, and though he was bored stiff, it allowed him more time to plan outfits or flick through his fashion magazines. Most often the girls from New Directions would pop in too say hi or dish the gossip to him—they revealed that about a week after the attack the whole of the football team excluding Finn, Sam, Puck and Artie had been pulled into Principle Figgins office and had been questioned. Apparently Azimo and Karovfsky were at the top of the list for who could have hurt Kurt. Kurt's nerves had tingled apprehensively when he'd heard, but according to Rachel—who'd eavesdropped on the whole thing—all of them had strong alibis. After she'd gotten up to leave—but not before casting a wary, sorrowful glance in his direction and asked once again if he needed to talk. Kurt had rolled his eyes and almost pushed her out the room with a smile, telling her no he didn't need to talk thank you very much, he was _fine._

Yet each time they'd leave he'd lie back down on his bed and stare at the ceiling, the empty, numb feeling inside of him snaking its way through his bones until he felt so tired and worn that he felt he could sleep forever.

The truth was, he didn't feel like himself. He couldn't bring himself to pull up any sort of facade or even his usual haughty attitude. This time he couldn't hold the weight of what happened all by himself anymore.

Calling Blaine had felt. . . It had felt like his last option. In truth he really _did _need to talk, but he just didn't think he could talk to anyone in Glee club.

"You look tired." Blaine observed, face shifting in concern.

Ah, of course, and then there were the nightmares that haunted Kurt every night and made it impossible for him to sleep. "You could say that." Kurt offered. He bit back a sigh and watched Blaine frown.

"Kurt. . . The offer still stands you know," Blaine said gently, his hand coming on top of the table, like he wanted to reach for Kurt's. Kurt stared at it, unresponsive. Blaine sighed and pulled it back quickly, "If you need to talk, I'm here. I can tell you're not alright."

"I'm _fine_." Kurt hissed, eyes glinting dangerously at Blaine. Blaine raised his hands as though in surrender.

"Fine, fine. You're doing just _fine _then_, _whatever you say. But tell me, have the nightmares eased up yet?"

Kurt's eyebrows raised in surprise and suspicion. He stayed silent for a moment then said slowly, "How. . .?"

"How's that feeling in your chest doing, too?" Blaine asked, eyebrows furrowing and eyes narrowing at Kurt. His tone was still gentle, but his face told he was taking no prisoners. "Does it still feel like a black hole, eating you away from the inside?"

"How do you know that?" Kurt whispered, thunderstruck. His hands began shaking. This was not how the conversation was supposed to have gone.

"I know, Kurt. I know how you're feeling 'cause I've felt it all too. I know how you think it's all your fault. I know why you lied to the police. I know you can't stand to look at your friends because they think you're going to just _break _at any second."

Kurt's mouth twisted into a grimace. He sat back and glared at Blaine. "You don't know _anything._"

"Oh no?" Blaine said, never taking his eyes off Kurt. "You feel closed in, like you're being smothered. You can't escape that voice in your head, telling you over and over that it was all your fault. That it's _you, _that's why it all happened. You feel like you can deal with it-"

"I _am _dealing with it!" Kurt snapped.

"—and you convince your friends you're doing just fine, but you know that's not true. They don't think you can handle it, you can't deal with what happened-"

"I deal with more things every freaking _day_ than they have their whole _lives!" _Kurt hissed. He just wanted Blaine to stop, to just _shut up. _"I _did _lie to the police. I told them I didn't know who it was, but we both know that's a lie. I knew who it was as soon as I heard he was behind me that night. I knew sooner or later he'd come after me. I'd been waiting for _months, _and I knew. And you know how? Because he _told _me he was going to do it. I've been his punching bag, his personal torture victim for _months. _He told me he was going to kill me. He _told _me, and after that it just got worse and worse." Kurt's chest was heaving, and he was talking in broken whispers now, but Blaine never took his eyes off him. "I was so _good _at hiding it. Then it just got harder and harder, and my Dad saw how much it was _killing _me to go back to that school. They want me to move schools now. They've been thinking of it for a long time." Kurt was staring out to the side, voice barely above a breath as he spoke ". . . Then it happened. Karovfsky finally tried to do what he promised. He tried to _kill _me, and only _then _did anyone notice. They all act like this has _broken _me, like I can't deal with what happened, that I'll just break down or something." Kurt looked at Blaine again, this time his voice firm with resolution. "But they're _wrong. _They don't know _anything. _That's what pisses me off so much. They have no _idea, _but they still treat me like. . . like I'm _weak, _like I can't handle this myself. I can."

There was silence.

"You're scared-" Blaine said, and Kurt tried to interrupt but Blaine just carried on, "—and you think no matter what you do, Karovfsky will still find you, he'll still hurt you. You don't see the point in telling anyone—I mean, it's not like you're school's done anything, right? Why would the cops? It's not like you actually _died."_

Kurt flinched but Blaine just stared at Kurt steadily, his voice hard with the truth.

"It's stupid, not telling them. It's stupid, and you can't just live on fear, Kurt. "I know you're scared he'll come back, but Kurt—no matter what you do, he'll still be there. What are you going to do, sit around and wait for him to come back so he can just finish the job? Do you really think you'll somehow put it right if you let him do what he intended to do? It's _stupid _to have not told the police it was him. . . Are you really doing it just out of fear?" Blaine asked, voice softening as Kurt looked drawn and helpless opposite him.

"It's not. . . It's not just fear." Kurt said. Blaine looked at him, prompting him to go on.

"They all act like it's _their _fault." Kurt explained. He placed his hands on top of the table and folded them together delicately to stop them from shaking. "Finn, he's constantly apologising and telling me he should have had my back, he should have been there—but how would that have helped? He didn't _know _I was going to get attacked that night, did he? He can't follow me around like the Secret Service, he just _can't, _so how was he supposed to protect me? And my Dad, who's taken this on himself like it's his own personal burden. He blames himself for not seeing what was happening, for not protecting me enough but that's _stupid. _Every waking hour of the day he protects me. He protects me from myself—I couldn't have dealt with half the crap I do without him there. How many gay kids can say their fathers would play tea parties with them and buy them high heels for their seventh birthday instead of toy cars? How many? Not a lot. So him taking it on himself like this is just _insane, _because he couldn't have done anything ether! He does so much for me, and he just doesn't get it. They all blame themselves, but the truth is it's not their fault. It has nothing to _do _with them. Do you know whose fault it is, Blaine?"

Blaine looked at Kurt sadly, not saying a thing. Kurt felt the tears on his cheeks but he couldn't care less right then. The coffee shop remained bustling and busy around them, the two boys wrapped up in their own world, oblivious to anything but the other.

"It's _mine._" Kurt said, letting out a trembling breath. "It's _my _fault. The reason I got attacked was because I am _gay. _Tell me, does my Dad or Finn or the goddamn freaking _post man _have anything to do with that? _No! _But they still think it's their fault. And that's why I can't _stand _it! This aching _hole _inside me that's eating me up is there because _every day _I wake up and know that I got attacked because _I am gay."_

Blaine opened his mouth but Kurt just went on over the top of whatever Blaine was going to say.

He said in a hard voice, the tears falling thick and fast now, "I'm _ashamed, _Blaine. I'm ashamed of who I am. And then I'm ashamed of being _ashamed_! I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror because all I see is the bruises, and the _reason _I've got them. I'm ashamed to look at my Dad and see how hurt and scared he is, because he thinks he'll lose me like he nearly did—and it's my fault that he feels like that! If I weren't gay he wouldn't have to worry! I can't look the Glee club in the eye because I'm scared they'll see how I can't even lie to myself anymore, let alone them. I'm tired of being scared and feeling so _alone, _feeling worthless and like the only one thing that made me _special _was the very reason I nearly _died!_" He stopped suddenly, taken aback by all the things he'd said. He'd not even meant to say any of that. Hell, that didn't even sound like him. These constant onslaught of emotions weren't _him, _and it scared and unsettled him.

Blaine sat back in his chair and Kurt stared at his hands on top of the table. He'd not said any of that out loud, and now here he was spewing his insides to _Blaine._

Karovfsky had burrowed that seed of doubt into his head though, and Kurt just kept going back to it; who really would care if he'd died? It'd be just another gay teen death, like so many others that happened. No one but a few would really care, if even that. The police wouldn't care. He was _wrong, _he didn't _belong _there, he should be ashamed of who he was—and truth be told, he was.

A hand reached for his across the table and took it. Kurt looked up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Blaine was smiling at him gently, eyes never leaving Kurt's. He gripped his hand tightly and looked at him calmly. "You're not worthless. You do not deserve to die, Kurt, no matter what you are."

Fresh tears fell and Kurt pressed his lips together tightly. He breathed in through his nose and tried to raise his chin a little higher, but he only cried a little harder.

"Just because you're gay does not make you any less human." Blaine insisted, eyes boring into Kurt's. "You're not alone, Kurt. You're never alone. You're loved, and I promise, this is not your fault." He squeezed Kurt's hand a little tighter. "It was never your fault, and never will be. You are not at fault for loving who you love."

"That's easy for you to say," Kurt said thickly, shaking his head and trying to retract his hand from Blaine's grip, "You're straight, right?"

Blaine only held tighter and pulled Kurt toward him a little so he was leaning across the table and looking straight at Blaine. "Kurt, I'm gay." Blaine said quietly.

Kurt hiccupped.

They stared at each other for a second as Kurt processed what Blaine had said.

_He's. . . _Kurt hiccupped again, making Blaine laugh lightly.

Kurt tried to draw back his hand again. This time Blaine let it go, his face only frowning slightly at the loss of contact.

"I. . ." Kurt whispered. He cleared his throat and wiped his tears, regaining some composure. "Why did you tell me?"

"Because. . ." Blaine said, "I want you to know that you're not the only one who's gone through something like this before, and even if you feel it. . . You're not alone."

"You've—you've gone through something like this before?" Kurt asked, probing hesitantly.

"You mean have I had the living crap beat out of me for being gay? Yeah."

Kurt looked horrified. "I'm. . . I'm sorry."

Blaine just shook his head and took a drink from his now cold coffee. Kurt watched him.

"Thank you." Kurt said.

Blaine raised his eyebrows in surprise, placing his coffee down on the table quickly. "What for?"

"For . . . you know."

Blaine smiled again, the curve on his mouth familiar on his face. Kurt noted that Blaine looked good when he smiled. The smile looked like it belonged there, and it reached all the way up to Blaine's warm eyes and made Kurt think Blaine was someone who naturally made everyone else smile like that.

And the way Blaine had held Kurt's hand. . . It wasn't like Kurt willingly had boys taking his hand and looking into his eyes and batting alarmingly long eyelashes as they delivered sincere "It Get's Better" speeches every day. That didn't _happen _to him. Yet Blaine had done it.

Kurt watched Blaine has Blaine pulled out his phone and looked at it mid-drink and contemplated why Blaine was so eager to help him.

Blaine had saved him, right from the start. He'd risked his _own _life for Kurt. He'd offered Kurt his number and his ear if Kurt needed to talk—and now here he was. He'd just taken Kurt's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kurt wondered if Blaine was the kind of person who saw the world through a kaleidoscope—they saw the world in so many colours, the most interesting attracting them closest— and then with childlike curiosity they had to touch, latch onto the colour, and absorb it all.

Or maybe Blaine was the kind of person who couldn't help but help people—Blaine hadn't exactly tried to stop himself helping Kurt in any way he could.

Maybe he was both kinds of people. Maybe he thought Kurt a colour so intriguing he had to reach out and touch and grab onto the colour and not let go no matter what. He'd said something had been keeping him interested in Kurt. Maybe that was why.

Maybe Blaine had a knack for helping people in need, giving them a shoulder to cry on—or a hand to hold when they needed it.

Either way, Kurt counted himself very lucky right then.

Blaine placed his phone on the table and asked as he took another swig of coffee, "I'm curious; if your parents are thinking of letting you transfer, where are they thinking of sending you?"

Kurt had to think for a second and then he said, "Dalton Academy? You know the all boys school in Westerville?"

Blaine choked on his coffee andKurt looked at him in alarm. Blaine spluttered for a second then said in surprise, "I go there!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Blaine grinned. "Let me guess, they like the no bullying policy?"

Kurt nodded and took a swig of coffee, swilling it round his mouth and swallowing slowly as he thought. Then he narrowed his eyes at Blaine and said, "How do you know about the no bullying policy?"

Blaine gave a hollow chuckle. "We have a lot more in common than you think, Kurt."

Kurt gave him a long look, turning the statement over in his mind. Then he got up.

Blaine looked up at him, taken aback. "Where are you going?"

Kurt was touched for a moment by how genuinely hurt Blaine sounded that Kurt was just leaving. Kurt smiled. "_We're _going for a walk. It seems you have a lot of talking to do."

Blaine gulped at Kurt's expression, and for what had felt like a long time since he had, Kurt laughed properly. "I'm not the Spanish Inquisition, I won't hurt you."

"Wouldn't put it past you. . ." Blaine muttered as he got up. He brushed off his blazer, and now Kurt saw the emblazoned D on the lapel.

Kurt grinned, the action hurting his cheeks. "Oh, you have no idea."

* * *

><p>"Okay. . . So say if you had to be one sea mammal for a day, and had to choose what hunted you, what would you be and what would you choose?"<p>

Kurt laughed and stared at Blaine incredulously. "Okay, I think you've officially ran out of normal questions to ask."

"You mean the boring questions." Blaine grinned, sitting up on his elbows.

"I wouldn't call 'If you had to be a fruit for a day, what would you be?' a boring question." Kurt smirked. He sat up too, careful not to crease his outfit as he did.

"Well it's better than the oh-so-original 'what's your favourite ice cream?', you have to admit."

Kurt laughed again, his head lolling back as he grinned wide.

They sat on the grass in the empty park about a mile from Kurt's house, revelling in the warm evening sun and the stillness around them.

After talking for hours and hours until their throats had gone dry, they decided to just sit and simply laze around and talk about nothing. They'd talked about themselves until there was nothing left to tell. Now they were just asking each other pointless questions about the other, Blaine coming up with the most ridiculous things he could.

They found that in each other's company they were instantly comfortable; Kurt didn't know how to describe it, or even put words to it. Blaine made him feel . . . _comfortable _about being himself. Blaine didn't stare at him like the kids at school did, or like his family did. Blaine just _stared_. Those warm eyes never left Kurt's while Kurt's spoke and it was a welcome thing, to not see disgust or laughter there while he did. Blaine would just smile at Kurt warmly. That was the only way Kurt could best describe Blaine: _warm. _

Blaine listened to Kurt talk about school and his Dad and even Finn. Kurt found himself telling Blaine everything and once he started he couldn't stop. He told him about Karovfsky's constant threats and bullying, and how nobody at school even _cared_ or noticed. He even told him about Karovfsky kissing him, which he'd not told anyone about before.

"That's why he's doing it? That's why he attacked you? Cause he's scared you'll tell everyone?" Blaine had asked. He'd sounded angry on Kurt's behalf, and it wasn't the first time Kurt had felt touched again in the time they'd talked.

"It's not just him being _scared_." Kurt had said, looking down and playing with his hands nervously. "I think he just feels like it's not fair. He has a reputation to withhold—he's a football player, one of the most popular and _feared_ kids in school. Can you imagine what would happen if he came out? I think he just sees it as unfair that _I'm _out and still relatively happy about myself, whereas he's hiding who he is and he's so unhappy about it."

"_Why should __**you**__ get to be better than anyone else? Why should you matter so much?" _Karovfsky's taunt had whispered to Kurt suddenly. It never really left him, the constant loop of Karovfsky's words whispering and hissing at him inside his own head. Kurt had winced and saw Blaine had looked at him in concern for a moment, but Kurt had shrugged it off and had changed the subject.

Now they sat in comfortable silence, not having to say a word at all. Kurt was still trying to understand how well they _fit _each other, like he'd found another of him—and it had nothing to do with Blaine being gay either, though that was one of the similarities they shared.

Blaine was the polar opposite to Kurt, but it was like the way peanut butter and jelly were different. Kurt liked his clothes immaculate and bang on trend, whereas Blaine confessed he threw together anything he found. Blaine had laughed at Kurt's horrified expression and gone into a horrifying tale about the one time he'd gone to school in Target jeans and a Walmart shirt.

Kurt liked that about Blaine. Blaine's face was so expressive and so open when he talked. It was like reading a book; everything was there on the plane of Blaine's face just waiting to be read. Kurt had sat in awe for the most part, watching as Blaine would animatedly tell Kurt a story about Dalton or the 'Warblers' (who were Dalton's apparently established Glee club) and Kurt would revel in Blaine's over the top gestures and how he never seemed to stop _smiling. _Blaine was dramatic in his own sense: every word he would say and every gesture would be precise and so _big, _like he wanted the whole world to hear what he was saying. His eyes would shine down at Kurt's in delight, and Kurt found he couldn't take his own off Blaine.

Kurt noticed how _touchy _Blaine was too. Never before had another boy just _touched _Kurt as casually as Blaine did; Blaine would place his hand on Kurt's shoulder when they'd pass a narrow spot on the street, or tap Kurt's knee or elbow when they'd move. Kurt was fascinated with how easy Blaine just seemed to _reach _for him—he was avoided like the plague at school, and it was a welcome change to have someone just _touch _him.

They had their similarities too—Kurt had listened when Blaine had told him about his own past, how he'd been bullied himself at his old school and how he'd had to run to Dalton. He'd watched Blaine's eyes darken as he'd talked about running away, about not facing his bullies. He'd looked at Kurt, eyes sad and regretful. He'd urged Kurt to not run, to turn Karovfsky in. It wasn't the first time he'd told Kurt to do that, but each time Kurt would shake his head firmly and go onto another subject.

And there was something more, something Kurt couldn't quite put his finger on; but it was that unknown thing that made them fit together so easily.

"So. . ." Kurt said, breaking the thoughtful silence that had come between them. Blaine looked at him, eyes crinkling nearly half shut as he smiled.

"Yeah?" Blaine prompted.

Kurt looked to the side of Blaine's head, not really sure whether he wanted to say what he was about too. "You said that you'd had the. . ." Kurt cleared his throat delicately, "_' living crap beat out of you' _ . . . Can I ask what happened?"

Blaine looked down, face closing off suddenly.

"I didn't mean to. . . I'm sorry, I-" Kurt apologised quickly, but Blaine shook his head.

"No, no it's OK. . . It's just. . ." Blaine let out a breath that sounded only a bit shaky. He looked at Kurt from under his lashes. "It was the Sadie Hawkins dance at my last school. I'd only just came out and I asked a guy to the dance. That night some kids, they. . . well, they_ beat the living crap out of us_." Blaine said, mimicking Kurt's tone as he said the word. He looked down again, his mouth curving down.

Kurt stared, eyes wide and face frozen. What could he say? There was no way to answer that, or even try and give any comfort.

"That's. . . I'm sorry, Blaine." Kurt said quietly.

Blaine looked up at him and smiled genuinely. "It's OK. It's fine. Being at Dalton for as long as I have and being around the Warblers. . ." Blaine smiled at Kurt again, having already told Kurt in detail who the Warblers were and their antics in Dalton, "They make me forget that I even came from that kind of background. They . . ." Blaine shrugged, eyes going wide as he tried to find words. "Sometimes, being in Dalton, I forget that there are even people out there who hate who I am or what I stand for. But then sometimes Dalton feels so _suffocating_, like I'm stuck in a dream world where everything's happy all the time . . . and I know that it isn't real, not really." Blaine's face turned uncharacteristically serious. "And yet I never seem to want to leave. I like it, even though it feels like I'm being wrapped in cotton wool or something." His eyebrows quirked and he gave a shrug, like he didn't like it but there was nothing he could do. "Why would I want to face the real world when the one I'm in is so much better?"

Kurt pursed his lips and considered it. Blaine had a point, he supposed. Yet the idea of being caged in, imprisoned almost without even knowing it. . . Kurt couldn't see how anybody would want that.

But isn't that what _he _wanted? Didn't he want to be away from all the sneers and the abuse? Didn't he just want to be _happy? _He deserved to be happy, so why couldn't he have that?

Suddenly his phone rang out. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw he had a text from his Dad. He sighed.

"My Dad's wondering where I am, I should probably get home. . ."

Kurt went to get up but Blaine's hand shot out and grabbed for Kurt's. Kurt froze as Blaine gripped him tightly.

They looked at each other for a minute. Blaine smiled, almost self consciously, and asked, "When will I see you again?"

"What do you mean?" Kurt said slowly, looking at their clasped hands again.

"I mean, you didn't call me in three weeks and now you're running off again. . . How long will it be before I see you next time?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and stood up fully, his hand slowly releasing Blaine's. "Don't be so melodramatic Blaine. I think you're forgetting this is the _first_ real conversation we've had."

"And now you know me better than even my own mother." Blaine grinned. He turned serious for a second, his sincerity touching Kurt again. "I'd really like it if I could see you again, Kurt. Can we be friends?"

Kurt looked at Blaine and thought about everything they'd told each other. He wondered what the harm would be in being friends with Blaine. Blaine seemed almost unreal to Kurt: how many open gay kids did he ever meet, or anybody outside Glee for that matter, who wanted to be his friend?

"Sure." Kurt smiled, a full and happy smile. "We can be friends. I'll text you tonight?"

Blaine smiled brightly and nodded. "That'd be great."

* * *

><p>When Kurt got home Burt was sitting watching a game on the TV. Burt looked round as Kurt called, "Hey, Dad!" and had smiled.<p>

"Hey kid, where you been all day?"

Kurt stopped on his way to the stairs and deliberated telling his Dad he truth. There was nothing _bad _about going to meet Blaine. Blaine was just a friend.

"I've been out. With Blaine." Kurt said slowly, watching his Dad's reaction.

Burt only looked a little surprised however. He turned to face Kurt fully now and stared at him for a second, then said, "You alright? You look a little different."

Kurt just smiled. He_ felt_ different—for the first time since the night Karovfsky had attacked, he felt a little like himself again. "Yeah Dad, I'm fine."

Burt nodded, eyebrows raised a little. "Uhuh. Well, glad you had fun then."

"I did." Kurt grinned, meaning it too.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **So here's that chapter of promised fluff and Klaine- but for the angst lovers, don't despair! There's still a ton of angst yet to come. Kurt isn't quite 'healed', not just yet.

Thank you to all of you again for favouriting and reviewing etc, I'm so grateful and happy that you like this fic! *hands out virtual cookies to you all*

Also: the song the New Directions sing to Kurt is The Call, by Regina Spektor.

* * *

><p><em>From: Mercedes<br>To: Kurt_

_Good luck, x_

Kurt had been staring at the text for about half an hour since he'd gotten it, his fingers hovering stiffly over his phone screen.

They'd be just getting into school now. He'd be picking up Mercedes in his car and they'd be playing something full blast while he drove, the two talking excitedly about their Christmas plans. They'd get to school and they'd meet Tina and then all walk into McKinley arm in arm. Maybe they'd be talking about Glee club or a Spanish assignment. Maybe they'd be gossiping about some new drama going on within the New Directions group. Whatever they would be doing, it didn't matter now anyway. Kurt would never know.

He stood up and faced his mirror again, looking at his reflection with disdain.

"Kurt?" his Dad called from downstairs. Kurt jumped and quickly started to gather his things. "Blaine's here!"

"Yeah Dad, I'm coming!" he yelled, throwing his phone and brand new textbooks into his satchel. He threw it over his shoulder and hurried to the door, casting one last glance at himself in the mirror.

The Dalton uniform had been hard to get last minute, what with it being the middle of the school year but he'd managed to get one that fit him well, and Blaine had pulled a few strings (it turned out Blaine was a golden boy at school, much to Kurt's amusement) and had gotten Kurt the textbooks and things he'd needed.

Being in a uniform unsettled Kurt though; he shifted uncomfortably inside it. He supposed he would get used to it eventually.

Blaine was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when Kurt descended. Kurt felt a little better when Blaine smiled widely up at him, looking neatly pressed in his own uniform.

"Hey." Blaine grinned, hand going to Kurt's shoulder automatically.

Kurt smiled briefly. "Hey."

"You ready?" Burt asked, coming up behind them.

Blaine retracted his hand quickly. Kurt smirked to himself.

Blaine chirped brightly, "Hey Mr Hummel!"

"Blaine, it's been about a month and a half now, kid, I think you can call me Burt now." Burt chuckled, half rolling his eyes.

"You're kidding? Blaine doesn't know how to function properly unless he's being a mannerly, _dapper-" _Kurt gave a wicked grin in Blaine's direction,_"—_private school boy."

"Hey, not true!" Blaine said indignantly, still grinning at Kurt.

Kurt's phone buzzed in his pocket; he pulled it out hurriedly and swiped at the screen to answer the incoming call.

"Rachel?" he asked when he heard the voice at the other end, voice coloured with surprise. "Er, is everything alright?"

"Are you inside, Kurt?" Rachel asked briskly.

"Inside my house? Yes, Rachel. Where else would I be?" he said exasperatedly, motioning to his phone as he looked back at Blaine. Blaine gave a questioning glance; Kurt put a hand near his shoulder and then made his hand talk, miming "blah blah blah" quickly as Rachel prattled away on the phone. Blaine grinned and nodded, understanding who it was immediately.

"—so, would you come outside?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said quickly, tuning back into the conversation and realise Rachel had asked something, "Can I go where?"

"Out. Side." Rachel enunciated.

"Sure. . .?"

Slowly he walked to the door. He opened it hesitantly and peered outside.

On the lawn stood the whole of the New Directions, and at the front stood Rachel, still holding the phone to her ear and smiling excitedly.

Kurt gaped at them all, dropping his phone into his pocket and staggering forward toward them.

"What? What are you all doing here?"

"We wanted to see you off and say goodbye properly." Rachel said, all her teeth showing as she smiled. The Glee club nodded behind her.

Tears welled in his eyes and he clasped his hands by his chin, lost for words.

He realised they weren't all bad. They were the only thing really keeping him at McKinley—they were the only friends he had, and he _did _love them. All of them. No matter what he said about them, deep down he loved them.

Then, as one, the Glee club started singing. Kurt's breath trembled and left him completely as they sang together, not one of them singing lead or overpowering anybody else— they just sang softly, to him. They harmonised perfectly, looking at him with looks of mingled sadness and hope.

He would come back. They were his family, despite their dramas and their fights. No matter how much they all got on his nerves and how bad they all treated each other, it _didn't matter, _because they were all he had. He would come back, when it was all over and he could be safe.

He cried openly now, his heart bursting in his chest at the sight of them all singing goodbye to him.

Behind him Blaine had ghosted to his side; with a gentle, reassuring touch the shorter boy placed a hand at Kurt's elbow. Kurt looked at him quickly. Kurt thought about how he was leaving them all to go off with Blaine and go somewhere safe with him.

Would he be happier?

They finished singing, the girls and even the boys looking slightly misty eyed as they finished in a chillingly perfect note.

Rachel walked forward toward him, arms outstretched. He grabbed her into a hug and squeezed her tightly, his mouth quivering as he smiled over her shoulder.

"We'll all miss you. So, so much." Rachel whispered in his ear.

Kurt pulled back and looked at her. His once-rival turned friend. He would miss her, for all her diva-fits and atrocious fashion sense. They were alike, really, he and her. "What makes you think I won't miss you too?" he said, tilting his head so to look into her eyes.

He released her and looked around at the rest of them. They suddenly moved forward together and pulled him into a tight group hug. He was sandwiched between Finn and Mercedes, who just hugged him tighter.

They were going to miss him too . . . They were there for him, and they loved him, Kurt realised. No matter where he went now, they would always love him. Maybe it was a bit too late for him to realise all this, but it didn't matter. He would always come back, and they'd be there for him still the same.

"Hey guys, I hate to break this up," Burt said apologetically, "but I don't want Kurt late for his first day at his new school. You all need to get back to school—how the hell did'ya manage to get out anyway?"

"Mr Shue knew we had to come and say goodbye." Mercedes explained. She squeezed Kurt's arm fondly and they shared a quick hug. "Mr Hummel, would you mind if we stayed until Kurt had gone? Just so we can see him off properly?"

Burt shook his head and sighed. "Sure, why not. A few extra minutes won't hurt, I'm sure."

Blaine looked at Kurt, eyes flickering to his and searching them quickly. He placed both hands on Kurt's shoulders and asked firmly, "Are you ready for this?"

Kurt took a deep breath in. He looked back at his friends who he would be leaving behind. He would miss them, but he knew now that they would always be there for him no matter where he went. He looked back at Blaine and nodded. "I am."

He quickly turned to his Dad and hugged him tightly goodbye. Burt embraced him hard and then whispered. "Be happy, OK? You've been . . . Well, just try and be happy there."

Kurt pulled back, looking at his Dad in chagrin. He shook his head and looked down, the hollow, churning feeling in his stomach that never really went away made itself known again. "I'm sorry, Dad. For everything that happened . . . I'm sorry."

"It was _not _your fault." Burt argued, not the first time he'd said that Kurt.

Kurt opened his mouth but then closed it again. He didn't want to argue. "See you tonight, Dad."

In twos and threes the Glee club hugged Kurt and said their farewells, standing in a line as Kurt got into Blaine's car and shut the door behind him. Blaine got into the driver's seat beside him and reached for Kurt's hand where it lay on his knee. Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand gratefully as the first tears began to fall.

Blaine started the car. The whole of New Directions started waving, Quinn and Brittany blowing him kisses, Rachel waving almost regally, Puck making vulgar gestures as the car pulled away, and Kurt just smiled at it all.

He stared and stared out of the window until he couldn't see them anymore. He felt a little numb and his chest hurt, like something was pressing on his lungs. He just breathed deeply though and wiped his tears. They were only a phone call away, really.

"You OK?" Blaine asked, real concern and worry in his voice. They were still holding hands.

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand again and sighed, smiling tremulously. "I'm just fine."

* * *

><p>Kurt could only describe Dalton as . . .<em> big. <em>It was everything a private Academy should be. Wrought iron gates, luxurious green lawns, and prim, well-kept gardens. The school itself was dripping in architecture and austerity.

Kurt stared up at the foreboding sight, feeling suddenly very small standing in front of the school's large oak doors. They were wide open and he watched apprehensively as boys of all ages poured in and out, all wearing the same blue and red uniform.

"It's not as intimidating as it looks," Blaine said gently, guiding Kurt towards the open doors with a reassuring hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Are you nervous? You don't really strike me as the type." Blaine smiled, eyes twinkling as he teased.

_Yeah well_, Kurt thought solemnly, _The kind of type I am has changed a little . . ._

Kurt shook his head minutely and backtracked, not even thinking about it.

They walked down a busy, bustling corridor, hoardes of boys walking past. Kurt stood tall and wary, trying to appear calm.

"Hey, Blaine!" a tall boy called, raising a hand as he said hello. Kurt stared at him curiously as he walked off.

"Friend of yours?" he asked Blaine.

Blaine laughed a little and turned red slightly, "Not exactly. . ."

Before Kurt could ask, another two boys walking past said hello to Blaine. Kurt stared after them, puzzled, but as they walked down Kurt noticed that many of the boys around them would stop and say hello to Blaine, or smile at him as they walked. They all seemed to _know _Blaine, who took all the attention with a grin and a friendly nod to them.

They reached the end of the corridor and came to an empty archway that led to what Kurt saw was a common room. He turned to Blaine with one eyebrow raised.

Blaine rubbed at the back of his neck and gave a little smirk, "I told you. The Warblers are like rockstars."

"And you're the lead singer?" Kurt asked, smiling a little at Blaine.

"Yeah, I am." Blaine grinned. "Feeling a little starstruck, Hummel?"

Kurt laughed, "Oh you wish."

Blaine chortled then grabbed Kurt's hand, the movement so easy now after doing it so much. "Come on, I'll show you the commons. We'll probably be spending a lot of time here."

With an eager grin, Blaine pulled Kurt into the room.

The first thing Kurt noticed was how _brown _the room looked; everything was made of a dark, polished wood and furnished with simple cushions and rugs. It was huge and bright, the open windows letting in the morning sun.

Kurt walked forward, mouth open a little as he took in the large room.

Suddenly a group of male voices called out to Blaine from all over the room; Kurt spun quickly and saw a crowd of boys making their toward Blaine.

Blaine beamed and greeted them all, still keeping a firm hold of Kurt's hand. "Hey guys! This is Kurt, the new kid."

"Awesome, fresh meat!" said a tall, lanky blonde boy. He had a boy-band haircut and wore a goofy grin as he led the group to where Blaine and Kurt stood.

"These are the Warblers, Kurt," Blaine introduced, "and a few other boys who board as well."

They surrounded Kurt, smiling at him curiously or looking him over with wary eyes. Kurt stared at them all, his heart beating frantically in his chest. He stood frozen, unable to say anything, an alarming panic settling in.

_What's a matter with you? _a snide voice demanded him. _Since when do you freeze up around strangers? Say something._

"It's. . . It's nice to meet you." Kurt said quickly, just as the silence had become awkward. The group shared quick glances and Kurt felt his face heat. "Uh, Blaine's told me all about you." Kurt covered hastily, trying to regain some dignity.

"I'm sure he has," said a voice from behind Kurt. He turned to see two boys walking into the common room. The one who'd spoken was a tall black boy, and he smiled gently at Kurt as he approached him. His friend, a stocky Asian boy, looked at Blaine instead.

The black boy walked up to Kurt and offered his hand. "I'm David, this is Wes." David gestured to the Asian boy, who nodded at Kurt. "We're the co-Heads for the Warblers. It's nice to finally meet you. I must say, I disapproved at first about Blaine talking to a rival." He looked at Kurt's uniform and nodded. "But it seems now that's not a problem."

"Apparently not." Kurt smiled faintly, shaking the boys hand.

"Plus he couldn't really say anything, what with Blaine saving your life and all." The tall blonde said, grinning manically at Blaine.

"_Jeff!" _chorused the boys around him. Blaine groaned, and a few other boys put their faces in their hands in despair.

Kurt looked at Blaine in surprise, stiffening quickly. "You told them?"

Blaine's face dropped instantly, his eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. "I. . ."

"He had to explain his absence to us some way, and he was hurt too." Wes explained. "We would have known if he were lying, and we were all worried."

"Well, this is a great start, then." Kurt muttered, rolling his eyes and glaring icily at Blaine.

"You know you're not the only too have come to Dalton because of past . . . _troubles._" David offered. "And I don't just mean Blaine, either."

Kurt looked around, eyebrows raised. "So . . . are you _all _gay then?"

"Not all of us, no," said a hulking boy in the back, his arms folded across his chest. His hooked nose and slightly narrowed eyes unsettled Kurt for a moment, but he shook it off.

"No, we're not all gay," Wes smiled, "It's just Dalton—and it's students—are very tolerant. No one really cares what you are here."

From above them a shrill bell rang out; as one the boys all scrambled to their belongings scattered around the room and started towards the door. Some of them stopped and spoke to Kurt, who greeted each of them in return, a little taken aback by their friendliness. They slowly petered out, and then there was only Blaine and Kurt left.

The room was silent. Kurt still stared after the departed group, not exactly knowing what to think. So they didn't care if he was gay? He felt a little stunned, and a bit like crying. All his _life _he'd been beaten up for being gay, and now . . . He wasn't exactly used to being accepted by such a friendly reception. They'd even seemed to _like _him. Kurt felt the beginnings of a smile curve at his lips. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard here after all?

Then he heard Blaine clear his throat behind him and Kurt whirled round, all traces of a smile gone.

Blaine looked chagrined, his eyes wide as he said quickly, "I'm sorry Kurt, but I didn't even know if I'd ever see you again after I saved you—this was before we'd even talked properly, and they wanted to know where'd I'd been—and they're _mental _in the headand would have gone as far as to _torture _me for the answer, and I just-"

"Oh my God, Blaine, _stop _before you give yourself an aneurism." Kurt sighed. Blaine closed his mouth and stared at Kurt. Kurt sniffed and stared at Blaine haughtily, lips curving up a little in spite of himself. "I can't say I forgive you. . . It'll have to take some _serious _sucking up for you to get back in my good books. Maybe even a few _expensive _gifts. . ."

Blaine grinned, sagging relief. He linked his arm with Kurt's and said fervently, "I'll buy you all the Marc Jacobs you want."

"McQueen too?" Kurt teased.

"All the McQueen in the _world_. . ."

* * *

><p>Dalton's library was like the rest of Dalton: big and grand. Paintings that Kurt swore were originals hung on the walls, the towering shelves stacked with leather bound books of all sorts of things. Kurt had felt a bit like Belle as he'd walked in, staring in wonder at the ornately decorated ceiling and the lavishly furnished study areas.<p>

He'd mentioned it to Blaine, who'd just chuckled and said in mock indignity, "Wait, does that make me the Beast?"

"At your height? No way." Kurt had smirked.

"Oh, low blow." Blaine had said, pressing a hand to his heart and grinning.

They now sat at a table at the back of library, Blaine going through his English assignment and Kurt already looking over the French verbs he'd been given this morning. His French teacher was wonderful, and he found himself learning so much more than he had at McKinley.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, then Blaine put his pen down and turned his head slightly toward Kurt. Kurt looked up, sensing Blaine wanted to talk.

"Okay, so we've known each other for about a month and a half now, right?"

"Yes?" Kurt agreed slowly, wondering what Blaine was getting at.

"And you have to agree, we know each other pretty much inside out now, right?"

Kurt sighed, closing his notebook. He nodded again. "I suppose, yes."

"It's just. . . The way you acted when you met the Warblers. You were . . . _nervous. _Excuse me if I'm presuming anything, but I _know _you. _You _aren't nervous. You certainly don't act that way around me."

"That's because you're my best friend." Kurt shrugged, picking lint from his blazer and avoiding Blaine's eyes. It wasn't until he noticed the silence between them that he realised what he'd said.

Blaine paused. "I'm . . . your best friend?"

"Well," Kurt said slowly, meeting Blaine's eyes hesitantly, choosing his words carefully, "what else do you call someone who knows me like you do? Come on, Blaine, you've seen my video games collection. Not even Mercedes knows about that." Kurt said, his eyes a little desperate. Maybe he shouldn't have said that . . .

Blaine looked at him for a minute then shook his head. "No, it's just I'm glad we're . . . on the same page, then. You're my best friend too, so I'm glad it's . . . mutual."

Kurt nodded. There was a slightly awkward moment, and then Kurt asked hurriedly. "So, you were saying?"

"Oh! Well, it's just. . . You don't exactly seem the type to be nervous Kurt. And I heard your Dad too, before we left? He said be happy." Blaine looked at him steadily until Kurt met his eyes. "Now I may not have known you all that long, but I know you _enough _to know that you aren't like—well, this. How you've been acting."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked shrewdly, drawing himself up and raising his chin higher, mustering up a half-glare that didn't feel right even to him.

"You know what I mean."

Kurt stared at Blaine for a minute, ready to angrily snap at him or tell him it was none of his _damned _business, but he found he couldn't. He sighed and said quietly.

"I don't know. I just. . . I feel all wrong. Inside me, I mean. I just keep trying to tell myself to just deal with it like I always do. Except this time, I can't." Kurt shrugged, opening his textbook again and saying blandly, "This time it's just a little bit harder."

* * *

><p>"Hey, new kid!"<p>

Kurt looked up to see Jeff, the Warbler he'd met in the common room, walk over to him with what seemed to be his default smile in place.

"Oh, hey. Jeff, right?"

"Yeah!" Jeff said eagerly. He sat down next to Kurt, who had been sitting in the almost empty common room on his own. Blaine had had to go and see a teacher about his English assignment. Kurt had assured him he was a big boy and could look after himself while Blaine was gone. He was having second thoughts now.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Kurt asked, crossing his legs.

"You're auditioning for the Warblers tomorrow, right?"

Kurt looked a little surprised but answered, "Yes, I am. Blaine got me an audition . . . How did you know about that?"

"I'm auditioning too." Jeff smiled. "I just wanted to wish you good luck."

Kurt smiled genuinely, warmed by the boy's sincerity. "Thank you, that means a lot."

Jeff's face turned a little more serious and he asked gently, "How are you getting on, by the way? Have you made any friends, or?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You sound like my Dad." Jeff just shrugged and gave a half smile, so Kurt carried on with a little sigh. "I'm doing fine. It's only my first day so I can't really comment, but everyone's nice enough. I've certainly had no trouble, anyway." His phone beeped in his pocket and he pulled it out quickly. It was a text from Blaine, telling him to meet him for lunch in the cafeteria. "I better go. . ."

Jeff stood up as Kurt did, saying with another eager grin, "Well I'm glad to hear all's OK. Again, good luck tomorrow. You seem to have definitely gotten Blaine's interest, eh?" Jeff winked and Kurt turned red.

"I don't know what you mean. . ."

They made their way toward the door just as the tall, bulky boy from the common room earlier walked in; Kurt didn't see him until it was too late, and with a little "oof" bumped right into him.

"Oh, I'm so-"

"Watch where you're _going, _will you?" the boy snarled, and with a glare he strode on, making sure to bump into Kurt's shoulder as he walked.

Kurt stood rooted to the spot, his heart racing, flashbacks of Karovfsky pushing him into lockers and sneering at him all coming back, memories of Karovfsky kicking and punching and pushing—

"Hey Kurt, you OK?" Jeff asked worriedly, seeing the distress of Kurt's face.

"I—I didn't even mean—I-"

Jeff scowled after the boy and laid a hand on Kurt's shoulder in reassurance. "Ignore him, he's an ass to everybody. Just avoid him, you'll be alright."

Kurt stayed frozen for a few more seconds, then a voice started screaming at him, _Move, dummy. He's talking to you. _Kurt jumped a little and then looked at Jeff. Jeff looked at him with open concern now.

"I'm fine." Kurt said before he could ask. He smiled with all the bravado he could, years of practise making it easy for him. "You're right. Come on, we should go find Blaine."

Jeff nodded, still looking a bit worried. "Yeah, yeah we should. . ."

Kurt smiled, but inside his mind was still reeling. Images of Karovfsky shoving him into a brick wall, hitting him with a bloodied metal pipe—all of it played still so fresh in his mind. The boy, whoever he was, had just brought them all back again.

"_. . . everyone's nice enough. . ." _he'd said to Jeff. Maybe he was wrong.

Dalton looked like it was going to be a little harder than he'd thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I have nothing to say really except my continued thanks to all of you, I'm so grateful and appreciative of all your reviews etc- thank you so much, and in gratitude I'm trying to get the next chapters up as quick as I can. There's trouble and drama still to come- I'm afraid it's not all smooth sailing for Kurt. This is a short chapter and is sort of the break between the previous drama, and all that is to come.

Thank you all again, I really can't say it enough. I was completely surprised at the response this got, especially after my absence from writing, so I'm very thankful.

* * *

><p>Kurt lowered his hands as he belted out the final note, eyes raised and chin held high. Around him sat the Warbler's, and his heart thrummed nervously at their stares—but it was a good kind of nerves. A familiar sense of calm and adrenaline settled over him as he sang; it had been a while since he'd done a solo, and it felt so good to just sing again. Singing was his happy place, after all.<p>

When he finished the Warblers applauded politely, some of them wearing grins and some of them looking surprised. Kurt preened a little and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, bowing slightly.

"Thank you," he smiled. He caught Blaine's eye and grinned at him; Blaine inclined his head, his eyes still slightly wide from when he'd heard Kurt sing. Kurt smiled smugly at that.

"Thank you, Kurt. If you'd like to wait outside, the Warbler's shall make their decision." Wes approved. Kurt nodded, and made his way out into the hallway.

Jeff and a dark haired Warbler sat outside, nervously wringing their hands and jiggling their legs. Kurt felt a small thrill—he had this audition in the bag. He was_ sure _to get this solo. His confidence may have been knocked down a way because of what had happened, but not his singing. He was still as self assured as ever.

Kurt sat down next to Jeff, who just made a grunting sound as greeting.

"I'm sure you did fine," Kurt offered politely.

Jeff looked up at him, eyes blown wide. "You don't understand—the Warblers are so _critical. _That's why Blaine has all the solos, because he's the _best. _They take the Warblers so _seriously."_

"I can tell," Kurt mused. Outside of this meeting—his first confrontation with all the Warblers—the Dalton boys were . . . well, interesting. He'd been slightly surprised to see how stiff and brisk they were in that room—in the commons room and around school they were a lot different. Only last night he'd witnessed a competitive game of rock, paper, scissors.

Suddenly the door opened in front of them; Blaine walked through, eyes going to Kurt immediately. Kurt pursed his lips, trying to keep his face indifferent. Blaine turned away and smiled at Jeff and the other boy.

"Jeff, Nick. The Warblers are happy to say you'll both be in the running for a solo at Sectionals." Blaine announced. Jeff and Nick both jumped up with delighted grins on their faces. They hugged, and then both thanked Blaine before leaving, Jeff with a quick glance at Kurt. Kurt nodded after him, a plastic smile in place. He turned back to Blaine, his heart clenching painfully.

"I'm sorry Kurt."

Kurt shook his head. _Not this, too_, he thought desperately.

He'd been knocked down time after time for solo's before and he'd just shrug it off like everything else. It was easier and better to just keep going and convince himself, _next time. _

Lately though it seemed things were pretty hard to just _shrug _off. Frustration and disappointment welled up inside him. He'd thought this could have restored some of his self confidence, _just _a bit. He thought he might actually feel a little _worthwhile._

Blaine sat down next to him and placed a hand on Kurt's knee. "I think . . . I think you were trying too hard."

"Well excuse me for caring." Kurt said bitterly.

"It's not about that." Blaine sighed. He looked around and said to Kurt, "The Warblers are a team, Kurt. We work together, otherwise we don't work at all. Every Warbler is important. It's not about just one."

Kurt fiddled with his hands. "I guess I'm just used to screaming to be heard."

"There's no point being heard if no one wants to listen." Blaine said.

Kurt snorted. "Such sage advice." His stomach still felt like a pit, and he felt so disappointed in himself—it seemed one of the things he was most good at, he couldn't even do that right anymore.

_That's not what Blaine's trying to say, _he tried to tell himself. _He's just saying that you don't have to try so hard anymore. They're going to appreciate you for just you._

Kurt closed his eyes. Did he really believe that?

Blaine smiled faintly and patted Kurt's knee. "I know this is going to be hard, but you'll fit in. You're safe here, and that's all that matters. I promise, it'll get better."

* * *

><p>Kurt found it did get better. With Sectionals weeks away Kurt suddenly became busy rehearsing with the Warblers. Being in the background was second nature to him from his time in New Directions, but what Blaine had said was right. It wasn't <em>just <em>about being in the background—he felt like his voice _was _important. The Warblers all had their own individual voices but together, making the sound of the instruments and their voices in perfect sync, they were brilliant.

What Blaine had said about being in a team was true too—Kurt didn't know how to describe it, but being in Dalton was a lot different than being in McKinley. No one flinched when he touched them, like he could give them some fatal disease. No one stared at him in the hallway as he walked, no one glared or snickered or looked at him in disgust. Instead, they smiled. They greeted him politely, his fellow Warblers high fiving him or clapping him on the shoulder as he walked. It was _different, _and it made Kurt different too.

The tension, the panic, the _fear _McKinley had ingrained in him and gone just a bit. Kurt felt calmer, and he didn't flinch when someone tried to touch him anymore. He didn't have nightmares anymore either—and he himself, his whole personality and who he thought he was, had changed too. But he thought the changes were _better. _He didn't feel so _angry _at the world anymore, or like he didn't belong there. It was like Dalton was his own therapy.

It was funny how just the simple act of treating someone like an actual human being—how the Warblers and the students at Dalton treated Kurt—could change a person.

Slowly, he became a little like himself again. He held himself a little straighter. He felt like a _person _again, and not like how Karovfsky had made him feel. He wasn't healed, but he felt better. And there was Blaine. Blaine was a constant in Kurt's life, and it came to a point where Kurt could hardly remember what life had been like without Blaine being in it. He remembered it to be so dark, the only spots of light his father and the Glee club- without Blaine and that warm smile of his, everything had seemed just that bit lonelier. Kurt had shelved the weight of his troubles all by himself- but with Blaine, he eased the load a little.

Kurt tried, he really did, to push down the growing feelings he felt for Blaine. He _knew _it would happen eventually—he knew himself that as soon as someone showed him a shred of affection and _decency _he'd was smitten with them, but this time it was different. This was Blaine. He tried to stop it, but . . . With every day came another touch, or another thing Blaine would say that set Kurt's heart thrumming against his rib cage, or another stupid, ridiculous, oh-so-very _Blaine _thing Blaine would do to send Kurt blushing.

They would gush about things together, and Kurt felt like finally someone understood him. Kurt had never been this happy, or more comfortable in himself, than when he'd been with Blaine.

All the while though, a voice at the back of Kurt's mind sneered at him and asked him how long this new self-assurance would last.

* * *

><p>Nearly two months after Kurt's attack, and after he'd been at Dalton for a month or so, Blaine proposed they do something that night.<p>

"Blaine, we do something every night. Last night we went to go watch the re-play of _Moulin Rouge _for its 10th anniversary at the cinemas. You started drooling at Ewan McGregor, remember?" Kurt laughed, not looking up from his French homework.

"No, I mean. . . Do something. Like together, just us. Like . . . a meal or something."

Kurt looked up. Blaine was staring at him a little apprehensively, his hands twitching nervously on the table. Kurt frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't understand."

From the doorway to the common room a voice called, "Kurt!" Kurt looked away from Blaine too see Thad standing there. "There's a damsel waiting for you by the entrance to our fort, young sir." Thad said.

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. "Can I have that in English, Thad? I don't speak _Dungeons and Dragons_."

"There's a chick waiting for you in reception." Thad grinned.

Keller, also a Warbler, shot up into a sitting position from where he'd been lying on the couch opposite Kurt. "Wait, a girl? For Kurt?" He looked at Kurt quizzically, who just rolled his eyes again.

"Ha, ha." Kurt retorted, hurrying to put his things back in his bag. He looked at Blaine, who looked slightly put out. "We'll finish this conversation later . . .?"

Blaine just smiled charmingly and shook his head. "Nah, it doesn't matter. Who's waiting for you in reception?"

"I have no idea. . ." Kurt frowned.

"How is it you're gay and you can _still _get more girls than I can, Hummel?" Keller moaned, grinning as he did to show he was joking.

Kurt walked past and swatted at Keller, smiling as he said, "I like to think it's my rapier wit and fashion sense, but I just guess it's my good looks."

"I'm sure Blaine would agree there." Keller grinned.

Kurt paused, but then pretended not to hear him and carried on walking. He heard Keller snicker behind him, and what must have been Blaine's Science book he'd been studying out of hit the side of Keller's head.

The corridors were empty as he walked, but Kurt didn't notice.

_Blaine would agree? What was _that _supposed to mean? _Kurt thought, though the tingle of his palms and spine told him otherwise.

Blaine had asked if he wanted to do something. And it was true what Kurt had said, they did do something every day. The past week they'd been out almost every night to Breadstix and coffee, and then Blaine had gotten them tickets to go see _Moulin Rouge—_wasn't all that going out?

_You know what he meant_ . . . he told himself critically. Kurt stopped in the middle of the hallway.

Was Blaine trying to ask him out on a date? _Impossible_. Blaine didn't—_couldn't_—like Kurt like that. They were best friends. They were . . . They were each other's other halves, but not like that. Blaine was everything Kurt could ever ask for, but they weren't _like _that and Kurt knew it.

. . . That didn't mean Kurt didn't _want _that, though.

Kurt stopped walking and sunk against a wall, closing his eyes.

Maybe he was imagining it all. It wasn't the first time he'd made something like this up in his head. He winced, thinking of that disastrous year with Finn. But this was different, it was _Blaine._

Blaine, who had d saved him in so many ways, and accepted every over the top eccentricity and over the top notion of Kurt's, and who had not yet left his side once. Blaine accepted every flaw and bit of baggage Kurt had come with—why _wouldn't _Kurt be so hopelessly in love with him?

Dalton had taught Kurt something: it wasn't about just him all the time. If he cared about something then he would put aside his own feelings- and _himself - _and support that something. From being in the Warblers, Kurt had reigned in that need to fight to be heard, and instead found that he sounded just as good working with others. Kurt had learnt that he had to put aside whatever feelings he had for Blaine, because if he valued his friendship with Blaine, something he most definitely cared about, he had to stop just caring about himself and try to just go out and get what _he_ wanted. What was the point of ruining their friendship, like he had with Finn? What did it matter if he couldn't go out with Blaine? All he wanted was Blaine anyway, and just being friends with Blaine was better than not being friends at all. This time last year—hell, only a few weeks ago—he would have done all he could have to get Blaine to return his feelings. Now, he was just content with Blaine being his best friend, and only that.

But Blaine had just been about to ask him something in the common room, and that had changed everything.

Kurt sighed, pushing the thoughts away. He couldn't think about any of that right now. He straightened and smoothed down his blazer, making his way down the hall again—

He walked straight into the boy from the common room who he'd walked into before. Kurt staggered back and looked up at the boy, hands clenching tightly on his bag strap.

The boy glared down at him and walked toward him. "Didn't I tell you the last time, to watch where you're going?"

Kurt took a few steps back, spine ramrod straight as he looked at the boy. "What is your problem?"

The boy pointed a finger and stabbed it into Kurt's chest. "My problem, is you. Don't think just because the rest of them are all fag-loving-"

"_What _did you call me?" Kurt hissed, blanching as the boy took another step toward him. _No, _this _wasn't _supposed to happen here, this wasn't supposed to happen—it was a _no bullying _school. "You can't call me that-"

"Oh yeah? Because of a _policy?_" The boy sneered at him. "Like that can really stop me."

Kurt trembled, mind reeling. "What's your name?"

The boy just stared menacingly at Kurt and stabbed him with a finger again. "I suggest you stay out of my way, alright? There are ways to get round the no bullying policy—and believe me, I'll get around it." He turned and stalked off, leaving Kurt breathless and frozen in his wake.

When Kurt reached reception he saw none other than Rachel Berry standing there, tapping her foot and looking around Dalton appraisingly.

She turned when she heard him and a smile graced her face—then she saw how terrified he looked and how pale he was. Her face dropped and she hurried towards him, her voice coloured with worry. "Kurt? Kurt, what is it? What's happened?"

Kurt stared at her for a second. _Pull yourself together, _he demanded himself.

With difficulty he managed to breathe, his face settling into false calm. His heart was still beating furiously, and panic and terror coursed through him, but on the exterior he was the picture of calm and serenity.

"Nothing. I'm absolutely fine."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Here it is, chapter seven! Originally I had planned this a lot different- the confrontation happened for a different reason and Karofsky was meant to be at Sectionals, but instead this happened and well . . . I hope you like it anyway. It's nearly one am, so I don't know.

Thank you all so much for your reviews and your alerts- honestly, they make me all so happy. Thank you so so so much, you're all far too kind and I'm very grateful. I hope I haven't disappointed yet.

* * *

><p>It turned out Rachel was only going to make Kurt feel even worse.<p>

His fingers curled around his bag strap and he took in a few shallow breaths. Rachel stared at him in concern still but he just smiled, trying not to shake as he did.

"What can I do for you, Rachel?" Kurt asked. His voice sounded breathless, even to him. He cleared his throat.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Rachel," Kurt sighed, "honestly. I was studying when you came so I had to rush down here—which reminds me, I have to get back soon Rachel, so if you don't mind . . .?"

Rachel pouted a little and a surge of guilt ran through Kurt. He was pleased to see her he really was, but now exactly wasn't the right _time. _

Rachel looked down and tossed her hair, saying quietly. "I just wanted to come and see how you were doing, that's all. . . There's been a bit of trouble at school and there was some stuff with Finn . . ."

Kurt frowned. "What do you mean, 'trouble at school'?"

Rachel gave a half shrug. "The jocks have been even worse than usual. It's not just slushies or being thrown into dumpsters," Kurt gave an imperceptible wince, knowing all too well how taking a dumpster dive felt, "it's a whole new level of bullying. Kids are terrified. No one will say anything though, of course. . ." She trailed off once seeing Kurt's face.

"No one will _say _anything?" Kurt he said incredulously, voice rising in indignation, "They won't say _anything? _ They're just letting these jerks make their lives miserable every day? Are they _stupid?" _Kurt shook his head, his voice rising angrily. "Who does that?"

Rachel looked at him and said, as though he was missing a point or something "Er, you did?" she said, "_You _didn't tell the police who attacked _you_, Kurt."

Kurt clutched at his strap tighter. "That's because I didn't—_don't _know who attacked me, Rachel!"

"Yeah right." Rachel sighed, tossing her head away from him.

"It's _different_, Rachel-"

"Oh really?" she insisted, eyes turning hard as she stared at Kurt. "What Karofsky and Azimo are doing to kids right now—how is any different to what Karofsky did to you? It's just as bad, Kurt. You call them stupid for not telling anyone, but maybe they're not telling anyone for the same reason _you _are."

Above them Dalton's bell rang out shrilly and Rachel jumped at the sound. Kurt closed his eyes briefly. "You need to go, Rachel. You shouldn't be here." He opened his eyes again and motioned towards the doors. "I appreciate you coming."

"Kurt . . ." Rachel said quickly, grabbing his arm as streams of Dalton boys filled the reception area, "Kurt, look at me. We're all so worried about you—we need to know you'll be OK. I came to see-"

"You came to check on me." Kurt snapped. "I know. I'm not an idiot Rachel. Like I said, I _appreciate _it, but I don't need you all to worry about me. I'm _fine._"

Rachel shook her head, her eyes wide and sad as she gazed at him. "No, you're not. You can't lie to me, Kurt. We're the same person, deny it all you want but we _are, _and I know when you're not OK. You're not fine and something has _happened _only moments ago, and you're just staying silent about it, like everything else—but you need to talk to someone about it!"

Kurt shook her off and took a few steps back. "I don't need to do anything. Mind your own business, Rachel. Just . . . leave it."

He turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Rachel staring after him.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, to suggest such a thing would be an abomination!"<p>

Another round of loud protests broke out and Kurt's head lolled to the side, his fingers a steeple shape by his chin as he tuned the noise out.

For an hour now the Warblers had been fighting, their last minute changes to the set list causing a few heated discussions. As Wes banged his gavel again for the umpteenth time, Kurt let out a sigh and rested his forehead in his hands.

"Okay, enough!" Blaine cried. The voices died down and Kurt looked up to see Blaine standing in the middle of the room looking frazzled. "Just, stop. I suggest we just keep out set list the same, and go with Hey Soul Sister instead of Hot n' Cold. The melody is simple-"

"And you could easily sing it well." Thad interjected.

"—yeah Thad, thanks. The melody is simple and uncomplicated, so we won't have to stress about learning it so close to Sectionals ." Blaine said firmly. Around him the Warblers began nodding their approval. "Do we all agree?"

"All in favour of Blaine Warbler's suggestion?" Wes offered. All hands shot up and Wes smiled in relief. He visibly slumped and his professional, robotic stance left him completely as he said fervently. "Thank God, let's go get lunch."

The Warblers made their way out of the room quickly, breaking into chatty murmurs and loosening their ties already.

Kurt stood up and waited for Blaine, watching the door as he did.

Amidst the boys stood the tall, silent figure who'd threatened Kurt yesterday—Kurt stared from under his lashes at the boy, his head half turned away so it wouldn't be obvious.

"—_but you need to talk to someone about it!_"

Kurt shook Rachel's voice out of his head and turned away from the door as the boy left. He felt Blaine's hands on his shoulders and he twisted to see Blaine smiling at him.

"Ready to go?" he grinned. Kurt nodded and they walked towards the door.

_Do it, Kurt._

He couldn't understand it—if he were _himself _then this wouldn't be a problem. He'd go confront the boy himself and ask him what his damned problem was . . . But where had that gotten him last time? In hospital, that's where. A frustration so overwhelming coursed its way through him.

_Why _couldn't he just get a _grip? _This wasn't him and he knew it.

He wanted it to be over. Hadn't coming to Dalton been a way to forget it and move on? But now some _asshole _wasn't going to let that happen.

Attack or no attack, change or _no _change, Kurt wasn't going to have a repeat of what had happened with Karofsky.

Kurt touched his hair and said hesitantly, "Blaine. . .?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt stared straight ahead. "The boy in the Warblers—the tall one? He's in the back?"

Blaine frowned. "You mean Derek?"

"I assume so . . . ?"

Blaine stopped so suddenly Kurt carried on walking ahead until he realised Blaine was behind him; he turned and stared at Blaine in puzzlement. Blaine strode toward Kurt and placed his hands on his shoulders, looking Kurt full in the face.

"Has he said anything to you?" he demanded, shaking Kurt slightly. "Kurt? Tell me, has he said anything?"

Kurt's mouth dropped open. He stared at Blaine, "Blaine—what—slight overreaction here don't you think—?"

"He's a _dick, _Kurt." Blaine said angrily, "He's an asshole with a big mouth— he's bullied enough kids here but no one ever catches him. I don't know how he manages to get past the no bullying policy, but there's enough boys I knew who transferred because of him—"

"_What?_" Kurt asked incredulously.

_Tell him, _he told himself, _tell him now before it turns into another 'Karofsky' situation!_

"He is a nasty piece of work, Kurt but—" Blaine broke off and stared at Kurt, "Why are you asking about him? Has he said anything to you, Kurt?"

A moment of silence passed then Kurt said quietly, "No. He's not said anything to me. I just wondered who he was, is all."

Blaine relaxed, though his face was still creased into a frown. "Okay." He ran a hand through his hair, which Kurt would have thought impossible with all the gel in it. "The faculty can't do anything about it, and he's father is one of the governors at Dalton, so . . . They can't really do much—who wants to tell the senator his son's a douche bag?"

"Is he like that to you?"

Blaine soured, "No, we have a . . . mutual kind of respect, I guess. I tolerate him, he tolerates me."

Kurt nodded, only half listening now. Shame welled up inside him and he closed his eyes for a second.

The truth was, he could convince himself all he liked that he was strong enough to take on this Derek—take on Karofsky himself—but he wasn't.

It was pride that was keeping Kurt from telling Blaine about the threats. Just like it was pride, and ultimately the crippling fear of his suspicions being confirmed that the police wouldn't do anything, that stopped him telling anyone it was Karofsky who attacked him. Some part of him still clung desperately to that shred of him that used to shoulder all of this so silently, like the martyr he was. The part of him that used to be able to hold it all in was still inside him somewhere, and it was that part that stopped him telling anyone but Blaine who had hurt him. It was that part now that stopped him from telling Blaine about Derek—some small bit of him was still too proud and too strong to let anyone else help him.

He wanted to ram his head against a wall to knock the stupidity of the ideaout of him, but it would be no use.

One thing he knew for sure though, he felt like himself more and more each day, and once he could find it in himself to kick the guys ass verbally . . . Kurt Hummel would take no prisoners.

* * *

><p>Even with everything happening, Kurt couldn't not be excited for Sectionals when it finally came around.<p>

On the way to where the competition was taking place, Blaine had gripped Kurt's hand tightly and breathed quite shallowly, his face pale under his olive tone

"Are you nervous?" Kurt smirked, prying his fingers gently from Blaine's vice-like hold.

Blaine turned to him and exhaled quickly, smiling a little. "I guess I am."

"Blaine, you've performed a thousand times. Why should you be nervous?"

"I can't help it—out on that stage I'm fine, but beforehand . . ."

Kurt nudged Blaine's shoulder with his, placing his hand on Blaine's arm. It still felt so _liberating _to Kurt to touch a boy like this and not feel scared of being shoved into a locker.

"Blaine, listen to me." Kurt said, "I've watched you perform and you're brilliant. You'll go out there tonight and you'll knock them all _dead_."

Blaine smiled gratefully. He looked at Kurt with a strange expression before saying, "You're amazing, you know that?"

Kurt tossed his head and said, "I've been told," before turning away quickly, striking up a conversation with Jeff before Blaine could see how hard he was blushing.

Kurt felt his phone vibrate in his pocket; he pulled it out and saw he had a text from Mercedes.

_From: Mercedes  
>To: Kurt<em>

_just arrived, already drama. how r u? X_

Kurt smirked.

_From: Kurt  
>To: Mercedes<em>

_Everything's fine, we just got their too .Booking in now. The Warblers are just prepping for show time. What drama? X_

Blaine tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him, the Warblers already walking toward the green room. Kurt put away his phone and smiled, following Blaine. They entered and listened to the sound of Aural Intensity through the tinny speakers. Kurt could make out "Jesus" and "mine" but nothing else. It sounded very . . . cheery. He wrung his hands nervously, and then he saw Blaine. He was fiddling with his tie anxiously and looking distinctly pale, his leg jiggling as he breathed. Kurt smiled to himself and reached up, folding his hand over Blaine's and bringing them both down to rest on his knee. He felt Blaine relax instantly.

They would be on in five minutes. Kurt looked around—and saw immediately someone was missing.

"Where's Derek?" Kurt asked, tilting his head so only Blaine could hear. Blaine shrugged.

Kurt thought for a second and then got up. Blaine looked up at him confusedly but Kurt just patted Blaine's shoulder and said, "I won't be a minute. Toilet."

Blaine nodded and went back to looking nervously at the opposite wall. Kurt smiled a little and hurried out the green room.

He didn't know why he was doing it; it was _insane _to say the least, and he knew more likely than not it could turn out very, very badly. But Kurt had realised something on the way there, and it was time he put that realisation to the test.

He strode down the corridors until he reached the left wing that led right onto the stage. Just as he'd thought, Derek was standing there watching Aural Intensity perform the final moments of their first number.

Kurt stood frozen for a second, debating his own sanity and questioning what he was about to do. It was time he faced his demons and not run from them anymore. He'd realised that, among other things.

He was still fighting his war, even if he was away from the battlefield. Karofsky would still make his life hell. The last few months were proof—without even having to lift a finger Karofsky had managed to make Kurt doubt himself to the point where he wasn't even _himself _anymore. But running from it had been a bad idea—so he wasn't going to run anymore. He had the chance now to redo what he did wrong, and he wasn't going to miss that chance.

He marched up to Derek, who turned when he heard Kurt coming. Kurt watched the sneer unfold on Derek's face—but instead of feeling scared, it only made him go quicker.

"And what do you want?" Derek snarled.

Kurt stopped in front of him, drawing himself up to his full height and staring coldly at Derek. "I want a lot of things, now you're asking. I want you to listen to every word I say right now. I want Gucci shoes. I want my Dad's health to be intact again, and his heart attack to have never happened. I want to go back to my old school. I want the last four months to have never happened. But most of _all," _Kurt seethed, watching Derek's face darken as Kurt went on, "I want you stay the hell away from me. You think because you're the size of a boulder, with roughly the same IQ as one too I imagine, that you can just throw around insults and it'll make me scared of you?"

Derek raised a hand slowly, his mouth forming words to throw but Kurt cut him off.

"It's laughable. Scared? Of _you? _You know, the notion never even passed my mind. You're nothing but a bunch of too many mutant cells and sweat patches, and there is _nothing—_no threat, no word, _nothing_—that will ever make you appear more than that to me. I am _tired _of you Neanderthals thinking you can throw me around because—"

"Because you're a _fag_," Derek sneered, recovering from the temporary silence. "You're a fag, and I admit you're pretty brave for saying all that, but now you've just made me angrier. I will kill you—"

"_What _did you just call him?"

Kurt whirled to see Blaine feet away, looking angrier than Kurt had ever seen him. Behind him the Warblers stood looking at them. Kurt wondered how long they'd been standing there for and just how much they'd heard, but it didn't matter anyway. He turned back just in time to see Derek throw an arm at him—Kurt moved quickly, dodging the punch, but in doing so he overbalanced. He fell backwards to the floor and hit it hard.

The Warblers sprang in to action— Jeff and Wes and another Warbler grabbed Derek before he could throw himself at Kurt. Blaine ran to Kurt and pulled him up, but now it was Kurt who had to hold Blaine back.

"Take back what you called him!" Blaine yelled furiously. "Take it back or I'll-!"

"Blaine, stop!" Kurt panted, pulling Blaine back but hardly able to hold the struggling boy.

"What the hell happened here?" David demanded.

"I think . . . I think Derek's been harassing Kurt." Jeff gasped, he too struggling to hold back Derek. "On Kurt's first day he was an ass to him . . . And from what Kurt was saying about threatening him . . . I guess he's been doing what he always does."

"Kurt, is that true?" Wes asked.

Kurt stared round at them, and then at Derek, who glared at him darkly. Kurt's expression turned stony. "Yes. It's true. He's threatened me before."

Blaine was calming down now, but only just; he stopped trying to struggle out of Kurt's grip and held Kurt's hand tightly instead. "Since his _first day?" _he demanded of Derek, who just looked at Blaine blankly._ "_You _knew _what he was coming out of—you sick bastard, you hate us that much?"

"Blaine, calm down." Wes reprimanded. He stared at them all and sighed wearily. "We have to go on that stage in less than two minutes. This cannot be happening right now." He looked at Derek coldly. "At least we finally have proof now about _you_. You'll be suspended when you get back. Hopefully expelled, if we're lucky." He glanced at Derek in disgust and then turned to the rest of the group. "Now as for the rest of you—I expect you to go out there with your best show smiles on. We have a competition to win, do you all understand?"

They nodded, and Kurt felt Blaine's hand flex in his own.

"Blaine?" he whispered.

Blaine made a _mhhmm _sound as they followed the rest of the Warblers on stage. They got into their starting positions.

"I want to tell the police it was Karofsky."

Blaine turned fully round and stared at Kurt in surprise.

"_Next up, from Westerville Ohio, the Dalton Academy Warblers!_"

Blaine tried to compose himself, just as the applause faded out. They stared at each other again one last time.

There were a thousand things Kurt wanted to say: _thank you for trying, _or _I'm sorry I dragged you into my mess, _or _I'm still not strong enough to do this without you _and more pressing than all of them, _I'm scared._

Instead he put on a smile and clasped his hands, his knuckles going white as he did, and said, "Show time."

* * *

><p>" . . .because it's never too late to donate . . ."<p>

Kurt kept his hands clasped in front of him, the agonisingly slow announcer pausing as the crowd clapped politely.

The Warblers had been fantastic of course; Blaine had been brilliant with Hey Soul Sister, his perfect show persona not letting even a tiny bit of his fear, worry or anxiety he was feeling for Kurt show. Kurt had not been able to do it as well as Blaine though—he'd caught Rachel telling him to smile from where she sat in the audience, and he realised he must have slipped. He tried to smile. How many times had he smiled at them before, even though on the inside it felt like he would break at any moment? He'd pulled up a smile and carried on, and when they had finished performing he sat next to Blaine and watched New Directions sing.

It was true what he'd said too Blaine. He was going to tell the police it was Karofsky. He realised he should have done it sooner; unfortunately though, at the time he'd just not been brave enough.

Dalton was like his own rehab; he'd stayed there and built himself back up again to be the person he once was. He'd felt the steady change over the months he'd been there, and he'd matured too, but he supposed he'd needed too with all that had happened— to be uprooted and thrown into the deep end is hard enough in itself. He'd found he'd had to look at the world differently now.

"In third place, we have the Hipsters!"

Kurt applauded politely, watching the old woman from the elderly group shuffle towards the offered trophy.

With every passing day at Dalton, the Warblers had unknowingly made Kurt realise that he didn't deserve to spend his life in fear. Everything Karofsky had said had weighed on Kurt's mind so heavily that he'd believed it himself, but Karofsky had been wrong.

The Warblers—Keller, Nick, Jeff, Wes, David and all the rest—they treated Kurt like it had never even happened. They treated him like a human being, and Kurt had hardly dared believe it.

Everything Kurt Hummel had been—ambitious, strong, cold, aloof, and one of the people most likely to succeed in hiding behind one's smile—had been changed and twisted by Karofsky, and by _fear, _but time at Dalton—and most importantly with the help of Blaine—had made him into everything Kurt Hummel was now.

Stronger, patient, and no longer someone who would go out of their way to get what they wanted. Instead he was someone who had grown into who they were better off being.

"And now, the winner of this year's West Central Sectionals is. . ."

Kurt would admit that even before Karofsky had planted all those awful things in his mind, Kurt had already began thinking them. He'd already began doubting himself and thinking, _what made him so special? _After all, if someone tells you you're _wrong _and _disgusting _so many times, you start to believe it.

But he saw otherwise now. He'd spent all this time not thinking he was strong enough to do it and that he wasn't worth _anything—_but really, he'd been strong enough, and brave enough, and worth more than enough to do it the whole time.

That's why he was going to tell the police it was Karofsky now. He could have done it before—but only now was he finally ready to do it.

It had just taken was Dalton Academy's Glee club and a boy with warm, pretty eyes to convince him so.

"It's . . ."

Kurt felt like the whole auditorium was holding its breath as the man paused, looking down at his paper happily and then saying:

"It's a tie. You're _all _going to Regionals!"

There was a stunned silence for a moment— and then the theatre erupted. Cheers and applause rang out, and Kurt heard the Warblers around him give cries of amazement and delight; from the other side of the stage New Directions were grinning happily, hugging each other and whooping. Kurt felt several people pat his back and shout, "We won, Kurt!", and he smiled brightly, genuinely happy. They were going on, they'd done it.

Blaine walked over to him, smiling despite the worried arch of his eyebrows. "C'mon, let's get backstage."

They hurried off stage and into the gloominess of the wings. The Warblers followed, the sounds of their celebrating echoing around them. For now, bullies and fears and harsh words were all but forgotten for a moment as each of them revelled in the fact that they'd won.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **The story is coming to an end- I suspect there's about three or four chapters left, depending on what happens while I'm writing. The second attack still has to come, and do you really think I'll end it without any Klaine? Oh no, there shall be boykisses, I promise.

Thank you all so much, and no matter how many times I say it it won't be enough to express how truly grateful I am. Thank you, and I'm glad you've all enjoyed it so far. Your reviews are so helpful and keep me going, so thank you.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, you can't <em>do <em>anything?" Burt bellowed, standing up so fast his chair knocked over.

Kurt sat staring at the officer blankly, too stunned to even get up and try and calm his Dad.

"I'm sorry Mr Hummel, but there's nothing more to it. We pulled in every possible suspect—Karofsky included. All their alibis were legitimate. There is no evidence to say Karofsky attacked your son."

"No evidence? _My son was nearly killed by him, _isn't that evidence enough?" Burt roared.

Kurt got up slowly and put a hand to his Dad's shoulder. "Dad, come on. You heard them, it's too late. They can't do anything."

Burt whirled round to face Kurt. "Son, I am _not _letting him get away with what he did to you!"

Kurt stared at him and for a moment wished he could be just as angry as his Dad was, or try to fight just as hard as he was. Instead he just felt defeated.

He'd known this was going to happen, hadn't he? It's not like he'd had anything to lose when he'd told the police—he'd already been broken, so what more could a bit of disappointment do?

Kurt shook his head. "He's been getting away with it for months, Dad. I told you in the beginning they wouldn't do anything, but we tried—it's just like everything else. No one cares. Let's just go."

Burt looked like he was going to say something else, but Kurt just stared at the cop over his Dad's shoulder. "Thanks, I appreciate all you've done. I know you couldn't have tried any less than you did, because you'd already done nothing at all. Thanks for nothing." The cops face darkened, but Kurt was already turning away.

He pulled Burt out of the office and walked out, his head held high as he stalked past the police officers standing there. Many of them he recognised—the fathers of kids who went to McKinley. He'd helped his Dad fix their cars. He'd done _nothing _to them, much like he'd done nothing to their kids either. But that still didn't stop any of them from hating him. They didn't see past "gay and easy prey" when they looked at him.

He'd seen the officers faces when he'd told then it had been Karofsky who'd attacked him. The cop had given him a pat on the shoulder and said he'd "do all they could to help", but even from that moment Kurt had seen that wasn't going to be the case. The cop had looked at him like Kurt was a small child he was indulging. Kurt could see what he was really saying: _sure kid, we'll try a little bit but in the end we couldn't really care less. What happened to you happened to you, just be thankful you aren't dead._

And they'd waited a month to tell Kurt that. They'd wasted his time pretending they were doing "all they could", when in actual fact they weren't doing anything at all. Kurt wondered bitterly why they just hadn't told him the same day—it would have saved him all the time he'd wasted on _hoping _and _believing_ something would be done.

It felt like the strength he'd worked up to the past few months was suddenly crumbling inside him; it wasn't just that he'd put some faith in himself and in others too, but it was the fact that he'd _let _himself do it was what was breaking him. He'd sworn to himself that he would go it alone, hadn't he? That promise had somewhat been broken with Blaine, but he truly wasn't prepared to put his faith in others, only to be shot down. It was he alone who would handle his troubles. But of course, that had all changed, and now . . . He'd been wrong.

Blaine was waiting outside by the car when Kurt and Burt reached it; he stared at Kurt, his face hopeful. Burt stormed past and got into the car, slamming the door behind him. It only took a second for Blaine to realise what had happened.

"Those assholes." Blaine said darkly.

Kurt shook his head again, his tone still as flat as it had been when he'd talked to his Dad. "It's fine. I knew they wouldn't do anything anyway. It's just another stab at the gay kid. No problem."

Blaine stared at him sceptically then took a step forward, his voice quietening as he said to Kurt, "No it's _not _fine. This has never been fine! Karofsky's still out there and he can still hurt you! Don't lie to me Kurt, I can see what this is doing too you! I can tell you care about this!"

Kurt looked at Blaine, his eyes slits and mouth curved unpleasantly. "Of course I care Blaine. But _they _don't. I don't see the point of getting worked up about it—it's not going to help anything!"

"Are we going home, kid, or not?" Burt called gruffly.

Kurt glared at Blaine and then pushed past him and climbed into the car. After a moment Blaine got in beside him.

Burt looked at them in the rear view mirror, one eyebrow raised. "Blaine?"

"It's OK, Mr Hummel. I'm coming back to yours, Kurt doesn't mind." Blaine looked at Kurt with an expression that was clearly challenging to Kurt to argue.

Kurt just gave him his best bitch-face and turned away from Blaine, not saying another word for the rest of the journey.

* * *

><p>Kurt stormed up the stairs to his bedroom silently, his face dark as thunder. He felt Blaine come up slowly behind him. Kurt had a good mind to run into his room and slam the door in Blaine's face, but he wasn't angry at Blaine, and even with how angry he <em>was, <em>he didn't want to shut Blaine out.

He walked over to his desk, his shaking hands resting on top of the smooth surface.

"Kurt . . ." Blaine began quietly, but Kurt cut him off before he could say anything more.

"Blaine, I appreciate you caring so much, but right now I don't need it OK? I'm honestly fine about this. I knew it would happen, so it's not like it's a surprise or anything. I'm _fine, _and don't you dare argue with me_. _I am _indifferent, _if you'd care for me to use another word."

"Argue with you? Hell yes I will argue with you!" Blaine said in a rush. Kurt turned to face him angrily but Blaine carried on. "You're _not _fine. We've been here before remember? Stop trying to hide it from me—I know you inside out, so can't you give me a bit more credit and stop lying to me?"

"Blaine-!"

"Don't! You forget, I know how this feels! You forget that I've spent _months _with you Kurt, and I _know _you! I know how upset you are about this, and mad that no one cares enough to do anything, and how unfair it all is—"

"Fine!" Kurt snapped, enough bitter disappointment and anger welling up inside him to make him scream it. "You want to know the truth? You want to psychoanalyze me? Go ahead, but let me tell you how I _really _feel. I am _not _fine! I can't remember the last time I _was _fine! I'm _tired, _Blaine! I'm tired of letting everything hold me down and stop me from just _living my goddamn life! _I'm sick of the bullying and being hated and every other little thing I get for being gay! I'm so _tired, _and I can't _do _this anymore!"

He was screaming now, his chest heaving as a torrent of thoughts broke through his filters and spilled out of him.

"Why can't I be happy, _just once?_ Why is it that no matter _what I do _there is still something about to ruin it? I knew they wouldn't do anything to help me, Blaine—why would they? Why would they help a gay kid who for all they think had what happened coming to him? That's all it's ever been. At McKinley no one even batted an eye when I was being shoved into lockers every day because they all just thought, _it's his own fault, why should we help? _They all thought it was just supposed to happen, because I'm _gay. _But it's not fair!" With a kick he knocked over his desk chair. He spun round and he threw the items off of his desk at the opposite wall. "It's _not fair!" _

Broken sobs escaped him, and for the first time in months he cried properly. He cried about being attacked and his whole life turning upside down. He cried at the unfairness of it all. He cried at all the hopelessness and despair and bitterness buried so deep down inside him. He cried so hard that he felt numb and he cried so violently that it hurt. He sunk to the floor, his knees drawing up to his chest, his whole frame shaking with the force of each breath. He heard the creak of bedsprings and suddenly Blaine was there, his arms wrapping around Kurt and holding him tight.

Kurt gripped onto Blaine just as hard and they sat there for a while, Kurt's face buried in Blaine's shoulder while he sobbed. Blaine held him and stayed quiet, letting Kurt cry.

* * *

><p>Kurt had finally settled completely into Dalton now. Christmas passed, as did his anger at what had happened with the police. He'd not seen Karofsky in months, and the attack itself was nothing but a nightmare now. It didn't haunt Kurt like it had done before.<p>

The end of January rolled around and with it came exams and the bitter cold—but regular coffee's with Blaine cured that.

Kurt couldn't put into words how unfathomably _grateful _he was to Blaine for of the past few months. Blaine had had to face his own demons, as well as Kurt's, and had fought the battle with him. When Kurt had lost faith in everyone—even himself—Blaine had always been there to restore it.

Blaine seemed so unreal to Kurt that it left him floundering sometimes. This hopeless love he had for Blaine—and he knew it was love because it felt quiet and constant and not like the loud and obvious crush he'd had for Finn—could never be returned. Blaine was, for all intents and purposes, Kurt's hero.

There was a part of Kurt that felt guilty though. From the very beginning he'd dragged Blaine into his messes—Blaine had saved him from Karofsky, but in doing so he'd made himself a victim of Karofsky's too. Every trial and tribulation of Kurt's had been shared by Blaine, but Kurt had never wanted that. Blaine didn't _deserve _that, and Kurt felt he didn't deserve someone like Blaine.

Kurt now sat with Blaine in the crowded Lima Bean, opposite him Rachel and Mercedes with their own coffee. They had taken a moment out of their practise for Regionals to meet, and the two girls looked morose as they sat down.

Rachel sighed and explained the whole fiasco with the football team. They'd all quit, for some unknown reason to Kurt, and now the big game of the year was in jeopardy. "Of course, with everything going on at McKinley it's hard to even spare time for coffee at all . . ." Rachel admitted, sharing a glance with Mercedes.

"Especially coffee with the two stars of a rival Glee club—how messed up is that? We don't really care, but . . . The stress levels are through the roof, especially now with no football team." Mercedes said.

Kurt looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "So they _all_ quit? I don't get it, what happened?"

"Well after we got Karofsky suspended everyone just started fighting—no one even wants to try and compete for the big game—"

Blaine choked on his drink and Kurt gaped. They looked at each other before Blaine spluttered, "Wait wait wait—you got Karofsky _suspended_?"

"Didn't Finn tell you?" Rachel asked Kurt incredulously.

"Finn hasn't told me _anything_—you'd think he would, seen as I bring him warm milk every night to get him to talk to me . . ."

Blaine stopped staring in shock for a moment to look at Kurt quickly. "Warm milk? Seriously?"

Kurt glared at him, "It's delicious." He patted Blaine on the arm and took a sip of coffee. "I'll make you some."

Blaine shrugged and then turned back to the girls. "But how did you manage to get him suspended?"

"Well after we found out it was him that hurt Kurt," Mercedes explained, "we all went to Figgins and told him straight—either he suspends Karofsky or _we_ go hurt Karofsky_. _We told him everything that he'd ever done to you." She stared at Kurt, who was looking at her in stunned silence. "We got Coach Slyvester there too. She was going mad at Figgins and obviously not happy about all the stuff that had gone on. So she said something about blackmail and video tapes, and suddenly Figgins agreed. Karofsky's been suspended."

Kurt felt tears spring to his eyes and his heart ached a little. He didn't know what to say. "I . . ." he swallowed, looking between them, "Thank you. I . . . Thank you. I don't even know what to say."

"It's the least we could do." Mercedes said, and underneath the glimmer of her eyes Kurt saw guilt there.

He wondered if they were beginning to realise what they'd done unknowingly—that even though they'd had no part in Kurt's bullying, it still didn't mean they weren't part of the reason he had been so unhappy.

"It's just _now _we have no football team. It's like civil war in there, and Finn's far too proud to complain about it to anyone, let alone admit that they need help." Rachel's eyes turned a little crazy as she said, "I hope he realises one day that if he were still with me, I could help him . . ."

There was a short pause then Kurt said firmly, "Not happening, Rachel." She sighed and he grimaced sympathetically.

"You know," Blaine mused, talking around the biscotti in his mouth as he thought, "you don't actually need a whole team. The rules say that you can play a few guys short if you wanted too. If you've only got the guys in Glee on the team, you'd only need a few more."

Rachel and Mercedes glanced at one another, their eyes lighting up. Kurt didn't want to ask; he instead nudged Blaine's shoulder with his. "Blaine likes football. I'm sure we'll be there to cheer you on, if you manage to figure something out."

"You bet. Kurt would never miss a chance to get in a scarf, after all."

Kurt laughed, a little bit happier now than he had been when he'd first came in.

Karofsky wasn't at McKinley anymore.

Kurt wondered, hardly daring to even think it . . . Did that mean he could go back?

If he went back, Karofsky wouldn't be able to hurt him. But he was _happy _at Dalton. At Dalton it didn't matter that he was gay. That wasn't what made him 'unique' there. Instead he was special because of his voice, or because of his perfect grade in French, or the fact he could beat everyone at throwing the paper ball into the trash can from the furthest distance. And _Blaine _was at Dalton. He didn't have any reason to go back.

But McKinley was still his home. He missed it, and he missed all his friends. No matter how unhappy it made him, he'd rather take being unhappy over being _safe _any day.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: So this is the last chapter before the end, I think. Now with the revelation at the end of this chapter, there's only one thing that can happen. The next chapter is where it all ends, and the story will come full circle. I'm thinking of doing an epilogue however, to show what happens after . . . The last chapter is wrote, I just need to re-read it and make some final changes.

Thank you to all of you for sticking with this fic and your unending support- I cannot tell you how grateful I am, and how much your encouragement has meant to me. Thank you, and I hope you've enjoyed it so far.

The dialogue used in the second part is directly from Original Song. I obviously don't own that- thank you to the creators of Glee for supplying such beautiful words and letting me play with it.

* * *

><p>The news that Karofsky had been suspended played on Kurt's mind daily. He was torn between the decision of going back or staying at Dalton. He wasn't about to up and leave, he wouldn't do that—Regionals was only a week and a half away and he couldn't leave the Warblers. He was happy at Dalton. He couldn't be sure that going back would mean he would be safe, or even happy. Just because Karofsky had gone didn't mean that it was all over.<p>

It had been almost six months since the attack; half a year, and Kurt Hummel had changed inside and out. He'd become a new person almost, or like he'd grown a new skin. It was like putting on a new coat—it was still him underneath, but now in a brand spanking new package.

He was still unsettled though. Constantly he asked himself, why hadn't Karofsky come back for him? Karofsky had not even bothered to say anything at all to Kurt for six months. Kurt wondered whether it really was over, or whether Karofsky had given up. Kurt was out of the way now at Dalton and couldn't exactly tell anyone Karofsky was in the closet— so why would Karofsky have any problem with him now? As far as Kurt was concerned, the problem was as good as gone.

At least, that was what he hoped. He hoped it really _was_ all over—but things like that never truly are.

Kurt sat in the common room, his textbooks littered around him as he tried to study. It was proving rather hard, however, due to the heap of boys on top of him.

"Kurt. . ." Adam groaned, poking Kurt in the ribs. Kurt rolled his eyes at the Warbler. Adam was raven-haired and the smallest of the Warblers, so he had clambered onto Kurt easily. "Kurt, please . . ."

"I swear, if you all do not get off me right now I will _castrate _each and every one of you."

"Come on, just _one _game Kurt?" Jeff pleaded, eyes going wide as he gazed at Kurt, "Just _one_?"

"I knew I should never have shown you my video games . . ." Kurt grumbled, shifting under the weight of the boys on top of him.

Blaine walked into the common room at that moment and promptly stopped in his tracks when he saw the huddle sitting on top of Kurt. The group stared at him and Blaine stared back, puzzled, before he rolled his eyes and said wearily, "Guys, get off Kurt. He's studying—as always—and won't play with you. Get off him."

"Yes, Blaine," they chorused glumly. They scrambled off of their hostage. Kurt sighed and stretched his back out like a cat, trying to get rid of the ache they'd put there.

"I swear it's like dealing with kids." Blaine mutteret.

"Or animals. Namely monkeys." Kurt rolled his eyes and went back to studying, scooting a little closer to Blaine as he sat beside Kurt. "How are you?"

He felt Blaine shift next to him; Kurt looked up, sensing Blaine's discomfort. Blaine glanced at him, smiling through the nervous frown on his face. He tried to speak for a second but then closed his mouth again. He repeated this for a few more seconds before Kurt said exasperatedly,

"Come on, Blaine, spit it out."

"I want to do a duet with you. For Regionals." Blaine babbled, the words coming out in a rush.

Kurt's eyes widened. He gaped for second, then squeaked, "What?"

Blaine blew a breath out and stared at Kurt, "I . . . I want to do a duet with you. For Regionals. The Warblers have all agreed to it. I asked them if I could do one. With you. They all think it's a great idea."

Kurt gaped, his stomach flipping and gambolling in his stomach suddenly. A duet. With Blaine. At _Regionals. _It was his _dream _to sing lead at a proper competition, and now it was _finally _happening . . . With Blaine of all people . . .

"Will you do it?" Blaine prompted, hands clasping nervously in his lap.

Kurt spluttered for a minute then said breathlessly. "Yes. Yes, I'll do it. I'd love too."

Blaine's face broke into a grin, his eyes lighting up happily. "Excellent." He stood up suddenly and Kurt gasped as Blaine called out to the room, "Guys he said yes!"

"Woo!" The Warblers started cheering and catcalling, much to Kurt's utter embarrassment. He blushed and ducked his head, while Blaine rocked back smugly, his grin stretching even wider as he clapped along with the rest of the boys.

* * *

><p>Kurt had still not forgotten about not wanting to let his feelings show for Blaine. He was still adamant that Blaine would not reciprocate his feelings—so far, Blaine hadn't shown any inclination of anything other than platonic feelings for Kurt. There were the flirty duets and the coffee 'dates' and all the times they'd gone out to see a movie, but Kurt questioned every single one each time. He told himself firmly, it wasn't a <em>date. <em>He told himself not to let his heart run away from him again and to not get wrapped up in foolish fantasies. He'd been told no so many times that he'd begun to accept it—it was what made him so careful with Blaine now. Before—like the time with Finn or Sam—he'd worn his heart on his sleeve, and had been almost embarrassing, he would admit it. But he'd at least been open about how he felt. He hadn't been afraid to show someone he liked them—yet where had that gotten him? Scorned, beaten down and even called a _fag_ by someone he trusted.

Kurt had accepted that it was better to shove all of those feelings for Blaine away. It would be better to live with such feelings than living without Blaine altogether because he'd ruined it with any unwanted advances.

Kurt sat in one of Dalton's many rooms, the decor around him the usual finely polished dark wood and mossy green fabrics. He sat at a small round table toward the back of the room and was looking through sheet music, trying to find a song for his duet with Blaine.

The double doors opened and he glanced up to see Blaine in the doorway, smiling at him. Kurt put down the sheets in his hand. "Hey."

"What are you doing?" Blaine asked, strolling towards him.

Kurt looked Blaine over quickly, noticing the nervous gait of Blaine's steps. Deciding not to question it, Kurt shuffled the papers and said, "Sheet music—I'm trying to find a song for us to sing . . ."

Blaine leant against the table. "Well put those away—I've found one."

Kurt raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Oh? And . . .?"

"Candles. By Hey Monday." Blaine stated. He let out a breath and sat next to Kurt, fidgeting on the edge of the seat. "I wanted something more . . . Emotional?"

Kurt tilted his head, looking at Blaine. He fiddled with the paper in front of him for a minute before turning back to Blaine and asking, "OK, can I ask? Why did you ask me to do a duet with you? And why _that _song?"

Blaine stared at him for second, and Kurt could see Blaine was trying to say something; Blaine opened his mouth, but then seemed to change his mind at the last second and instead said, his eyes never leaving Kurt's, "Have you ever wondered why I never left you all that time you were in the hospital?" he said, his words coming out slowly as though he were choosing everyone with care. "I couldn't leave you. I tried. It seemed so strange to you I bet. I was just some stranger who couldn't seem to leave you alone. But . . . Kurt, there is a moment when you say to yourself, _oh there you are. I've been looking for you forever._"

Kurt kept the polite smile on his face while Blaine talked, bracing himself. Whatever Blaine was going to say, Kurt wanted to be ready. He watched Blaine breathe shakily, his own apprehension pooling in his stomach.

Blaine moved forward and took Kurt's hand. "Since the day I met you I can't . . . I've never been able to let you go. Seeing your strength, watching you every day . . . That was the moment for me. About you."

Kurt's smile trembled minutely, and he felt his eyes widen. He was frozen, Blaine's words registering in his head only a second late. Disbelief, happiness, confusion—Kurt felt all of it in that moment. He felt a beam bubble up behind his tight smile but he couldn't let it show—he couldn't let himself believe it yet. Blaine still had to deliver his punch line—he could still say _yeah I like you, but this isn't going to work. _Kurt couldn't let himself be happy, not right now. He still feared it could turn bad at any second.

"You _move _me Kurt. You've changed my life, and doing this duet with you," Blaine gave a embarrassed sigh, " it would just be an excuse to spend more time with you."

_You move me. _Kurt eyebrows had risen in shock, and he felt like all the breath had left him. A grin broke through the tight smile, exhilarated and wide enough to hurt his face.

He couldn't process what was happening, but Blaine looked at him, almost like he was asking for permission, and then moved forward—Kurt's head screamed at him to do something, but all Kurt felt was shock. He didn't think this would happen— he didn't that _Blaine _would happen—and now Blaine sat across from him and had just told Kurt . . . He'd told Kurt he _moved _him.

Blaine leaned forward until he was a hairs-breadth from Kurt—Kurt stiffened, his body still rigid with shock, eyes still blown wide with disbelief.

A boy, an actual boy—and not just any boy, but _Blaine_—liked him. Blaine was going to kiss him, and all Kurt could think was _oh my God he likes me too, what's happening?_

What felt like after an agonisingly slow time, Blaine's lips touched Kurt's. Kurt's heart stuttered and clenched in his chest, his mind going blank as he felt Blaine's hand cup his jaw. Kurt breathed deeply, his body finally catching up with what had happened—his hand flew to Blaine's cheek and he held it there, his lips rolling into Blaine, his breath coming out in a gasp and his mouth flying open.

After a few seconds Blaine moved back. His body had been pressed against Kurt's,and as he moved back Kurt moved with him. Kurt's hand thudded to the desk and he stared at Blaine, his mouth still gaping in shock.

Blaine had just kissed him—Blaine_ liked _him. What Kurt had feared all along was that Blaine would reject Kurt like all the rest, or would tell him _no _and yell at him for his advances, and make Kurt feel like a freak and feel ashamed for simply loving someone.

What Karofsky had hammered into Kurt's brain had stayed there—the feelings of worthlessness still stayed with Kurt, and had seeped and trickled like water into other aspects of him too. He felt he could never be worth loving—told daily that loving who he did was so wrong, Kurt began to believe it.

No one had ever told him what Blaine had. He'd never think anyone would—there was a reason he was so careful with Blaine in the beginning. Kurt knew whenever he liked a boy inevitably, he would get his heart broken and trodden on, even if it was sometimes unintentional. Kurt had come to accept it now.

Blaine had broken all of the inevitabilities however; when Kurt had thought it inevitable he would never escape Karofsky, Blaine had saved him. When Kurt had thought it inevitable he'd never meet another person as open about being gay as him, Blaine had come along.

He thought it was inevitable that he'd lose Blaine if he ever admitted he liked him, but now Blaine had seen to that too.

Blaine rested his elbow on the table and looked away, smiling giddily, his face flushed pleasantly. Kurt gazed at him, breathing heavily and still smiling exuberantly.

"I'm so glad I finally did that." Blaine murmured. He brushed a hand over his eyes, sounding slightly embarrassed about admitting it.

"So am I. You kept me waiting a long time . . ." Kurt teased.

Blaine looked at him, and grinned. He moved a few inches closer. Kurt's breath caught again and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. "Then let me apologise . . ." Blaine whispered. He kissed Kurt again, and this time Kurt wasn't going to let Blaine move away.

* * *

><p>Kurt found Dalton even more enjoyable with Blaine as his boyfriend, even though nothing had changed. They still went out for coffee every day and studied together at night, but the subtle changes—like how Kurt could reach out and twine their hands together whenever he wanted too, or how he could enjoy Blaine kissing him goodnight when Kurt went home—was what made their friendship, and now relationship, all the more sweeter for Kurt. For a few weeks he stayed in a tranquil, hazy bliss; whenever he was with Blaine he would unfold like a bird and soar. The freedom he had, the chance to do whatever he wanted—touch Blaine, stare at Blaine, <em>kiss <em>Blaine—made Kurt happier than he'd ever been.

Regionals was fast approaching; with one member of the Warblers now gone (Derek had been expelled for good, much to Kurt's utter relief) it meant they had to hold auditions for someone to fill in and take Derek's place.

Kurt walked into the Warblers' meeting room where the auditions were taking place to find the Warblers in an uproar.

"No way, Wes! He's not going back there, you can't do that-!"

Blaine was standing in the middle of the room, his whole body tense and rigid with anger. Kurt knew Blaine was only angry when he was still—Blaine was composed, yes, but never still. He faced Wes, who was looking at the junior Warbler helplessly.

"Blaine, we cannot refuse this. The council has a chance to see what we're up against—" Wes began, but Blaine cut him off.

"I don't give a _damn _about the council right now, he's not going back! I think you're forgetting that he tried to _kill _Kurt!"

"That was six months ago, Blaine!" Wes argued hotly, "He hasn't even seen him in _six months_, I think he's gotten over it by now!"

"Blaine? Wes?" Kurt stepped fully into the room, holding his bag close to him as he stared at them both. "What's going on?"

Wes looked round at Kurt in surprise. He glanced at Blaine, who shook his head.

Wes sighed and ignored Blaine, telling Kurt, "The New Directions have invited us to their school for a little showcase—it's a way for them to show us what they're bringing to Regionals."

"They're trying to scare us, basically." Jeff supplied.

Kurt looked back between Blaine and Wes, still confused. "But I don't understand, what's the problem then?"

"You're not going back there, Kurt." Blaine said quietly. His tone had an edge to it.

"Oh, I'm not?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry Blaine, but you don't really have a say in where I can and cannot go."

Blaine shook his head exasperatedly and half rolled his eyes, "I'm not saying that! You know I don't give a crap where you go—go to China for all I care, but you're not going to that school!"

"Why not?" Kurt demanded, "Its safe isn't it? No one will hurt me there Blaine, especially not with Karofsky gone. I'll be with all of you."

Blaine's lips drew back, his eyes distant and his face falling a little. Kurt knew that look—Blaine knew something and he wasn't saying. Something bad.

"What?" Kurt asked quietly. Blaine looked away but Kurt walked forward, eyes hard. "What is it?"

Blaine sighed and rolled his head back towards Kurt, an angry furrow to his eyebrows. "Karofsky's back at McKinley. They let him back there."

Kurt was silent for a minute, his face blank. "How do you know?" Kurt inquired blandly.

Blaine bit his lip, something Blaine hardly did.

"Blaine . . .?" Kurt warned, stepping closer to the boy. A knot twisted in his stomach—there was more, and whatever it was it wasn't good.

"Rachel told me." Blaine confessed, staring at Kurt imploringly. "She didn't know whether to tell you, she didn't want to worry you. But . . . there's more."

Kurt nodded, "Go on . . ."

"When Karofsky got back . . . Apparently he was saying some stuff— and Finn? Finn was trying to defend you, and they got in a fight and . . . Finn's OK, and Karofsky. It was just what he was saying." Blaine's whole face had dropped now into a worried, angry frown. "He said he was gonna try and _finish the job_. He said he's still going to try and hurt you." Blaine suddenly gripped Kurt's shoulders and stared at him fiercely. Kurt looked back at him blankly, too overwhelmed to even speak. "But I swear Kurt, I'm not going to let that happen, OK? It's not happening—you're not going back to that school, and I'm not going to let Karofsky within a mile radius of you, OK?"

Kurt just shook his head, blinking back tears. Disappointment so bitter that he could taste it on his tongue welled up inside him. "It doesn't matter what you do Blaine, he'll still hurt me. Maybe not physically but . . . I told you, I'm sick of not being able to live my life. I'll still be living in fear."

Like a hole had opened up in his stomach, every happy feeling he'd had the past few days was suddenly swallowed whole, only to be replaced by that churning, awful feeling in his stomach again. Karofsky was coming for him. Kurt had known he would—maybe not to "finish the job", but along with everything else Kurt had learnt, he knew that he couldn't have run from Karofsky forever.

"We'll have to invite them here instead. We can't let Kurt be in danger, but we can't just refuse too." David said. His words were met with silence and furtive glances, but there seemed no other choice.

Kurt looked down, too ashamed and grateful to say anything. It wasn't fair to the Warblers—twice now his own problems had gotten in the way of the competition. He caused so much trouble for them. It just wasn't fair.

When would it be over? When would Karofsky give up and just move on? When he'd finally made sure Kurt wouldn't say anything? When Kurt was finally too broken to even feel anymore? Karofsky would never give up— and until he did, Kurt could never be happy.

* * *

><p>After a sleepless night, Kurt emerged got to Dalton the next morning twenty minutes late for his first lesson. Deciding there and then today would not be a good one; he went to the common room to study instead. He stayed there, the hours passing peacefully in the empty room until a familiar voice found him.<p>

"Hey."

Kurt looked up to see Blaine standing in the doorway. He walked in, almost hesitantly. Kurt shuffled over on the couch he was studying on to let Blaine sit beside him.

The common room was quiet again, the two of them sitting in silence. Everyone had gone to lunch or gone outside. The summer sun trickled in through the windows, the dust dancing through the sunbeams that slanted horizontally across Kurt's textbooks.

"How are you?" Blaine asked, his hand folding over Kurt's immediately.

"I'm fi—" Kurt stopped after the look Blaine gave him. He smiled wearily and said instead, "I'm alright, I suppose. Rachel called—there's been no new news about Karofsky. He hasn't said anything else. We're just starting to think they were empty threats now, but . . ." Kurt looked at Blaine, smiling emptily. "We can't be sure."

Blaine nodded. "We can't be sure."

Silence unfolded between them again: it was comfortable, both of them hearing the things that had been unsaid. Instinctively, Kurt moved closer to Blaine.

They were pressed together, their hands clasped between them, and that was all Kurt needed.

"Are you looking forward to tonight?" Blaine asked quietly, not disturbing the peacefulness around them.

Kurt smiled despite the hollowness in his chest. "Yes, I am. I'm looking forward to seeing them all again."

Blaine was quiet for a moment, and then he whispered, "I wish . . . I wish Karofsky wasn't there. I know how much you want to go back . . . I know how much you miss them." He turned his head until his nose was brushing softly against Kurt's cheek. He pressed a kiss there, the touch feather light.

"That's not true . . ." Kurt began but Blaine shushed him.

"It is," Blaine murmured, pressing another kiss to Kurt's cheek. He softly brushed his lips down towards Kurt's jaw, all the while keeping each kiss sweet and light. "I just wish it wasn't. I want you here, with me . . ."

Kurt smiled and squeezed Blaine's hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

Blaine pulled back, one eyebrow cocked and looking like he didn't believe Kurt.

Suddenly Jeff walked into the common room—he stopped when he saw them both together closely on the couch. He rolled his eyes and groaned, "Oh God, did I just miss you both kissing?"

Kurt pulled a face and said, "No Jeff, don't worry. It was very PG, you're OK."

"Kurt," Jeff whined, sitting opposite them, "now Blaine'll be grouchy because he didn't get his make-out on!"

"Kurt, if something very unfortunate happens to Jeff tonight involving a hammer and a body bag please inform his mother that he loves him."

Kurt laughed shortly and then untangled his hand from Blaine's as he got up. "Funny, really."

Blaine looked up at him curiously, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get some lunch," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "Is that OK with you? I've been studying all day, _mother_."

Blaine smirked and made a shooing gesture. Kurt laughed again; he picked up his bag and walked out, saying:

"Thank you ever so much for your permission to eat, mother, I do like not starving. . ."

"Shut up!" Blaine called, a tell tale grin in his voice.

"Not unless you make me!" Kurt sang, already disappearing into the corridor.

The hallways were mostly empty as Kurt walked: it was nearing the end of the year, though they still had a few more months to go. Regionals weighed heavily on Kurt's mind, but what occupied Kurt's thoughts the most was Karofsky.

Going to the police had solved nothing. The school board had done nothing. No one seemed to give a damn—the crushing, aching weight of being let down by the cops still pressed heavily on Kurt's heart. The only thing that had really eased it had been Blaine. Kurt had been _happy._ And then suddenly the world had been knocked from under his feet, _again_, and Kurt was falling, falling, down into the churning darkness and worry and _fear, _all of which were being caused by Karofsky.

Maybe the only way to deal with it and to really put an end to it all was to confront Karofsky himself.

Kurt had been wondering that if maybe he could just get through to Karofsky, it would be OK. Although Karofsky had seemed pretty hell-bent when he'd attacked Kurt, Kurt could understand where all the rage was coming from. Hadn't he had his own anger to deal with not long ago? Karofsky was lashing out at Kurt because of the unfairness of it all—hadn't that been what had made Kurt lash out too?

Maybe if he could just _talk _to him he could get Karofsky to understand. Of course, getting Karofsky to listen— or to even stay in the same room as Kurt without him trying to kill him again—would be hard. Kurt didn't even want to go near Karofsky, let alone try and talk to him. But he knew deep down he'd have to face Karofsky soon, and he'd rather do it under his own terms than Karofsky getting him alone again.

Unfortunately though, Kurt didn't get the chance to do it on his own terms. He had to face Karofsky unwillingly, and it took every ounce of his new found strength to do it.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Wow- here it is. The last chapter. I have enjoyed writing this fic immensely- it's been a challenge sometimes, and it's gave me great joy too. I am so, so grateful to all of you- thank you for reading and commenting, and I hope I haven't disappointed any of you along the way. Thank you a million times over, and enjoy.

* * *

><p>The Warblers were waiting at the gates when the New Directions pulled up in their bus. Kurt stepped forward and greeted them as they got out, a genuine smile curving his lips. Rachel stepped off and beamed when she saw him; she ran forward and hugged him tightly.<p>

"Hi, Rachel." Kurt smiled fondly, hugging her back.

"Kurt!" Rachel pulled back and looked him over with searching eyes, "Are you alright? How are you?"

Kurt considered for a second and then gave her a half smile. "How do you think I am?"

Rachel looked at him worriedly, but the rest of the New Directions were getting off the bus and had seen Kurt. They trekked over and each greeted him.

Kurt gasped when he saw Finn's black eye. "Oh my God, Finn . . ."

Finn shrugged, smiling. "Don't worry, man, I can't even feel it anymore. It's actually pretty cool; it's like a total babe magnet."

Wes came up behind Kurt to welcome them, his hand outstretched. "Hello, I'm the co-Head of the Warblers. If you'd like to come to our auditorium, we can get this started . . ."

Rachel shook his hand, and said with her usual manic competitiveness, "Our Glee club has been working with the upmost vigour to make sure we're at our best for this performance—I assure you, you will be quite blown away." She tossed her hair and gave him a smirk.

The New Directions nodded from behind her and Kurt grinned inwardly. They were certainly sure of themselves.

In their separate groups they trooped into Dalton, the New Directions—bar Rachel, who'd had a chance to see Dalton when she'd came to visit Kurt—staring around in interest.

Blaine slipped beside Kurt and took his hand. "You miss them."

Kurt didn't say anything but just looked at Blaine thoughtfully.

They reached the hall where the Warblers sometimes practised; it was a large room with a cavernous ceiling and tall windows. The decor was simple and the arched roof above their heads was what created the wonderful acoustics in the hall. The floor was polished and spotless, the tapestries hanging on the walls as austere as any original works.

The stage at the far end of the hall jutted out from the wall, the backstage area quite small and compact in comparison. There was a scattering of chairs on the floor; the Warblers grabbed a few chairs and sat down while the New Directions filed towards the wings.

Kurt sat beside Blaine and crossed his legs. Blaine reached for his hand again and whispered, "Nothing's going to happen. I promise."

Kurt smiled. It felt plastic and empty. He turned away towards the stage and waited for his friends to perform.

* * *

><p>Kurt had to admit: he was impressed. The New Directions had decided to show off their dancing and the way they moved freely when they sung—they'd picked an upbeat song and the singing had been shared between them. The Warblers, although amazing singers, weren't particularly strong in the <em>movement <em>department and the New Directions had decided to take advantage of this.

They finished singing and Kurt stood up and started clapping. He wasn't clapping for the performance—though he did feel a little jarred by it, because they _were _good—but for the support. He saw them all smile when they spotted him standing up; the Warblers then had no choice but to follow suit. They stood, clapping politely. If Kurt didn't know any better, he'd say they had been pretty scared by the performance and how good it had been. He glanced at Wes, who was looking a little shocked.

Kurt smirked. Yes, they had been scared.

A little part of him felt put out, seeing them perform—they seemed to be managing fine without him. He did notice that there were still some faults—Rachel seemed to be competing against another voice that wasn't there anymore, and he was sure it was where he usually sang. Mercedes or Quinn looked a little lost at points when, he assumed, they were moving to dance with him. All in all though, they seemed to be managing fine without him. He was glad, really, but he couldn't help feel a little bitter.

On stage, the New Directions gave their final bows and trooped off into the wings, laughing and high fiving each other. It reminded Kurt of when they had performed last year for Vocal Adrenaline, doing the funk number. The Warblers were just as scared as Vocal Adrenaline had been then; Kurt looked round to see them starting to move and get up, some of them still a little slack jawed. Kurt smiled, pleased for his friends.

"Do you want to go say hi?" Blaine asked him quietly, when Kurt seemed a little hesitant in following.

"I . . ." Kurt trailed off, looking back to the wings where he could hear them. He looked back at Blaine, grimacing apologetically. "Would you mind . . . ?"

Blaine smiled and quickly kissed Kurt's cheek. "Go ahead. I'll be in the common room."

He walked off and Kurt smiled after him. Then with a little sigh, he turned and walked into the wings to where the New Directions were talking happily.

Rachel spotted him as he ducked into the wings—she squealed and ran over to him, babbling,

"Did they like it? What did they think? Were they impressed?"

Kurt linked his arm through hers, smiling in spite of himself. "I can safely say they're definitely going to up their game for Regionals now."

She grinned and fist pumped, and then pulled him over to where the rest of his old Glee club was waiting.

* * *

><p>Kurt stood in Dalton's reception area half an hour later being smothered with hugs from the Glee girls—it was nearly the end of the day and most of the students at Dalton would be leaving, or in the boarders case going back to the common rooms.<p>

"Ladies, seriously, suffocating me here!" he laughed, pushing at them fondly.

They stepped back, grinning. It reminded Kurt all too much of when he'd first left for Dalton and had to say goodbye to them. A lot had changed since then.

"I'm only a call away, guys." Kurt told them firmly, raising a hand in farewell.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Mercedes said quickly, pulling out her phone, "You still need to text me your boy Blaine's number."

Kurt rolled his eyes and reached for his phone, "I'll just give it you now—though I really don't see why you'd need his number, Mercedes."

"To make sure he's treating you right, of course!" she grinned.

He shot her a smile and patted down his pockets for his phone—however, when he'd finally checked every pocket in his blazer, hand-sewn by himself or otherwise, he found it wasn't there.

"Oh . . . I must have dropped it in the auditorium or something . . ." he muttered distractedly. He grimaced at Mercedes. "I'll text it you. Promise."

"You better." She came forward and gave him a hug, holding him tightly. "About Karofsky . . ." she began quietly.

Kurt stiffened. He lowered his head, "Yes?"

Mercedes looked up at him for a minute, her face a little stern. "Whatever happens, we're here for you, OK? He was just saying it to get at Finn, and to scare you."

"Well, he was successful at that . . ." Kurt said sardonically. He softened at Mercedes' look however, and amended, "Thank you. Really."

Quinn suddenly came and placed a hand on Mercedes' arm, smiling gently at Kurt. "We need to go."

He waved at them as they left, a sad feeling of déjà vu burrowing into his chest. For all that Dalton and the Warblers had done for him, Kurt missed his Glee club. He missed his friends. Seeing them perform had reminded him of that. Dalton had never seemed like a permanent thing in his mind—he'd told himself he would go back to McKinley, once he was safe. Dalton had been his rehab, and everyone left rehab eventually.

Kurt walked back to the auditorium, mulling it over in his head.

He'd come to the realisation, not too long ago, that he had been strong enough to put what had happened to him behind him and rise above it. He had been strong enough to fight back—Kurt had grown as a person, and he'd realised that himself. He'd matured in more ways than one. Kurt felt more comfortable in his own skin now. The challenges that had been thrown at him had knocked him off balance, however—Karofsky was back at McKinley, which meant Kurt couldn't go back there. Kurt had felt like he really could have gone back, and even though he doubted anything would have changed, _he _would have been different at least. He would have known that he was not alone, and the constant abuse would not follow him _everywhere_. He would know that he had friends—here, at Dalton—who he could still turn too if he needed reassuring there were still decent people in the world who didn't _care _about what labels were put on him.

And of course, the fear of Karofsky coming for him had crippled him once again—but hadn't he tried to beat that too? Hadn't he gotten over that? This lingering sense of fear he had . . . Kurt didn't want it. It was crazy to try and bait Karofsky with a couldn't-care-less attitude, but Kurt felt it was wrong to just keep living in _fear._

He reached the empty auditorium, his steps echoing loudly around the hall. The chairs were still scattered haphazardly across the floor and Kurt walked slowly around them, still engrossed in his own thoughts.

There was of course Blaine too. Even if he did want to leave, Blaine was at Dalton. Kurt had never needed a reason to stay anywhere before—if he'd been given the chance, he would have left Lima years ago, but . . . Now, he wasn't so sure. He still wanted too, but the one thing that would keep him here if ever there was one was Blaine. Blaine had muddled through this whole mess with him, and had fought tooth and nail with Kurt. If he thought saying goodbye to his friends was hard, he knew saying goodbye to Blaine would be even harder.

As he climbed the steps to the stage a flicker of movement caught his eye; the thick curtains hanging in front of the wing entrance on the right twitched. He paused and stared at them curiously, but when nothing happened he shrugged it off and continued, making his way backstage.

Right where he'd thought it would be, his phone lay on top of the speaker he'd been sitting on. He thought it must have fallen out of his pocket when he'd sat down; he grabbed it and slipped it into his satchel, and then emerged back into the brightly lit hall.

Standing in the middle of the floor, amongst the chairs, stood Dave Karofsky.

There was silence for a few moments. Kurt stared at Karofsky, his heart rocketing to a lightning fast pace. It hammered against his ribs painfully and Kurt's brain screamed at him to move, to run. But Kurt stayed still instead. He clutched his bag strap with white knuckles, like it was an anchor keeping him upright.

"How did you get in here?" Kurt asked finally, his voice cracking hoarsely.

Karofsky shifted, his eyes darting around the hall. "Fire exits. Wouldn't take a genius to figure it out."

"Evidently." Kurt rasped.

Karofsky looked back at him, his eyes narrowing at Kurt.

"Why are you here?" Kurt whispered, stepping forward. He didn't know where his bravery was coming from—maybe it was from finally having _enough, _and knowing all along this would happen_. _"To _finish the job_? Are you here to hurt me again, Karofsky?"

Karofsky ignored him, instead asking Kurt, "Is there where you've been all this time?" he sneered, looking around him with distaste. "You sure got yourself a gay-mine here, haven't you? Full of more freaks like you. Bet you're in your element."

"Do you even know what that word means?"

Karofsky glared at him angrily, but Kurt could see something now. Behind all that anger in Karofsky's eyes, there was something else.

Kurt stared at him, his head tilting slightly. "You're jealous."

Karofsky scoffed incredulously. "What?"

Kurt just looked at him, shocked. "You . . . You wish you could be here, don't you?" Karofsky looked like he was going to say something, but Kurt carried on. "You know, I've had a lot of time to think about what you did to me." Kurt was now taking small steps toward Karofsky, who stared at him indecisively. "I've had a lot of time to think _why _you did it. Because I really did used to think it was just because I was gay, and because you couldn't handle that. You couldn't handle someone just that bit different to you. . . Now I know the real reason."

Karofsky fumed, his face twisting angrily. "Shut up, Hummel."

"You said it yourself—why is it fair that you have to stay in the closet, while I can just be myself freely?" Kurt had reached the bottom of the steps, and was now only a few feet from Karofsky. "You're _scared_. You're scared of what people will think of you if you come out. You're scared of being tormented, and going from the top to the bottom. You're scared of being judged—and you're scared that no one will accept you."

"_Shut up!" _Karofsky roared, and he charged towards Kurt. Kurt moved quickly, dodging Karofsky and darting towards the chairs. They were now on opposite sides of the hall again— but this time, Kurt was by the door.

"You _have _to listen to me!" Kurt cried, cutting Karofsky off as he was about to say something, "You need to hear me out! You can't keep hurting me because you're some scared little boy too deep in the closet to even see the way out of it anymore! I am _not _your punching bag—have you ever considered the fact that I am the _only _person who could help you?" Kurt stared at Karofsky beseechingly, his voice rising and falling as he spoke. "I am the only person who knows how you feel—that's why you came here. Not to hurt me, though I have no doubt you will. You came here to see what it was like, because you're _scared _and you don't know what to do anymore."

Karofsky was silent, that angry glint still in his eyes, but he was listening. Kurt made to step forward again, but stopped himself at the last minute. He stared at Karofsky imploringly now. If he could just get him to _hear _what Kurt was saying_, _then maybe he could stop Karofsky.

"There are people who will help you and accept you, Karofsky, no matter what you are. I've seen that. You are worth more than having to make other people's lives miserable, just because yours is. All it's taken for me is someone just treating like a _human being _and_ I_ realised that, so imagine what it could do for you. You need help—and regardless of how scared you are, you're not alone."

He didn't know why he was saying it, but Kurt understood Karofsky. He understood why he'd hurt Kurt, though that didn't mean Kurt forgave him for it. He never would. Karofsky had beaten him physically and mentally—but Kurt was a _good person, _and the only way he could see all this ending was if he could just reach out to Karofsky, and convince him he didn't need to hurt Kurt.

"Hurting me isn't going to solve all your problems," Kurt said. "and it's not going to make it all go away—you can't run from yourself, Karofsky. Hurting me is not going to make you any less of what you are, or make what you did any better."

Karofsky's face was too full of emotion for Kurt to read—indecisiveness, fear, anger. Kurt didn't know. But all of it was gone in a second, and replaced by regret.

"I know," Karofsky whispered, "But what other choice to I have?"

With startling quickness, he lunged for Kurt.

Kurt's instincts kicked in and he ran towards the exits but no matter how fast he was, Karofsky was faster. Within moments Karofsky had lunged at Kurt; he grabbed the back of Kurt's blazer and pulled, throwing Kurt backwards in the opposite direction. Kurt let out a yell as he toppled onto the polished floor, arms wind milling as he tried to regain balance. He looked up to see Karofsky advancing on him and he scrambled to his feet. He tried to run but Karofsky was there again; he dashed in the other direction but Karofsky was there too. He was cornered—no matter how he tried to get away, Karofsky was too quick.

Kurt sprinted backwards, back towards the stage. With shocking strength Karofsky came up behind him and gripped his shoulders—hauling Kurt with him, Karofsky propelled them both into the stage, Kurt getting the full brunt of the impact. He felt the edge of the stage collide with his chin and mouth as he folded over it, Karofsky weighing down heavily on top of him. Kurt struggled to get out Karofsky's grip, his mouth filling with the familiar coppery taste of blood. He turned to face Karofsky and struggled to talk through the blood dripping from his lips.

"What are you going to get out of hurting me?" he spat. His chest ached from where it had collided with the stage, his whole frame shaking.

Karofsky's face was screwed up, his eyes narrow slits. He was looking at Kurt like he wasn't even there, and before Kurt could say anything Karofsky slammed him back into the edge of the stage.

It was all too familiar to Kurt—but this time though, Kurt wasn't just going to let himself be thrown around like a ragdoll. He was going to fight back.

Gathering up his strength, Kurt pulled up his leg and kneed Karofsky in the gut as hard as he could. It didn't do much, but it was enough to make Karofsky stagger back. Kurt ducked out of Karofsky's loosened grip and darted to the side, turning his back on the wall and pressing himself up against it. Karofsky got his bearings again quickly however, and with a snarl he came at Kurt again.

By now everyone would have gone home, and the boarders would be in their common rooms at the other end of the school. The fire exits were backstage and Kurt couldn't have made it in time—

"Hummel!" Karofsky crowed.

Kurt cursed and ran towards the auditorium doors—he tried to pull it open but it was locked. Terror so great gripped him completely. He froze, his breath quickening and heart thudding. With alarming speed Karofsky was suddenly there; from the side Kurt saw Karofsky's fist before it collided with his face. He staggered to the side and Karofsky took his chance. He pushed Kurt back, his fist colliding with Kurt's jaw and the other hitting Kurt's chest. Kurt hit the wall and slid down, the fight slowly seeping out of him.

Karofsky raised his fist again and Kurt braced himself—however he was not prepared for what Karofsky did next.

"I'm sorry," Karofsky whispered. The words shocked Kurt, who didn't even know what to do— but then Karofsky swung his arm again, and it didn't matter.

And then, from the other side of the auditorium doors, Kurt heard a scream. It was mangled and broken, the sound of it tearing Kurt's heart in two.

"_Kurt!" _

Blaine's voice travelled through the doors and Kurt could hear his frantic pounding on the wood, and a cacophony of sounds he didn't recognise.

Kurt listened in horror as Blaine screamed his name, over and over, sounding close to sobbing.

"It's locked!" Kurt yelled back, voice cracking. Kurt looked up at Karofsky. "It was stupid to come here and try and pull this, you realise." He felt almost triumphant.

Karofsky dithered, his face going slack as he thought. From the other side of the door Blaine's cries had become almost hysterical, each one tearing through Kurt's heart like a knife.

"It's not locked . . ." Karofsky breathed. Kurt looked at him questioningly, and then he heard a crack and suddenly the doors were open— and there stood Blaine. Blaine, who'd faced down demons, who's ran, who'd fought and surrendered, who had loved, and who had become Kurt's hero all in one go. He was staring at Karofsky murderously, his face dark as thunder.

"Get away from him." Blaine snarled.

Kurt took his chance—his hands were still free, and his bag was tangled around him. An idea sprung to his mind—an insane idea, but it was enough.

With precision that he'd mastered after years of walking down McKinley's halls and hadn't been able to get to his locker in time, Kurt dived into his bag and got his hairspray—Karofsky came closer, and Kurt sprayed. A direct hit, right into Karofsky's face. The hulking boy stumbled and cried out in pain, clawing at his face as the hairspray no doubt went into his eyes. It wasn't enough to get him out, but it could buy Kurt enough time.

Blaine ran to Kurt, face drawn into haggard lines. He wrapped his arms around Kurt and pulled him up, brushing back Kurt's hair to take a better look at his face.

"Oh, God. . ." Blaine whispered brokenly, looking at the mess, "I'm so sorry, Kurt. . ."

"Worry about me later, we need to go!" Kurt protested.

"Already on it—" Blaine said, pulling Kurt towards the door just as Karofsky ran back towards the stage.

From the wings suddenly emerged the New Directions, all of them looking at Karofsky menacingly. Puck, Finn and Mike looked ready to kill.

"Going somewhere?" Finn growled.

Karofsky stopped in his tracks; he glanced back to Kurt, who stood gaping in shock at his friends.

"The police have been called, Karofsky. They're on their way." Blaine called, gripping Kurt protectively.

"You'll really enjoy juvie." Puck warned mockingly, cracking his knuckles.

Kurt sunk against Blaine, his whole body aching, but feeling safer than he had in months. His heart began to slow down gradually and he let Blaine pull him through the auditorium doors, away from Karofsky.

"It's over now," Blaine reassured gently, stoking Kurt's hair and pressing a kiss to his temple, "It's over."

* * *

><p>Once the New Directions had gone back to McKinley to tell Figgins and the police had taken Karofsky away, Blaine had bundled Kurt into his car and driven him to the hospital while Kurt had called his Dad to tell him what had happened. He'd needed a few stitches, but there was nothing major. It was mostly going to be a lot of nasty bruises and swelling.<p>

Karofsky had been arrested. Kurt had asked for him to have been given some sort of guidance, much to Blaine's annoyance.

"Why do you even want to help the bastard?" Blaine had fumed.

"Because," Kurt reasoned, "it's what he needs. If he doesn't get help, he'll just keep finding a way to hurt others."

Blaine had stared at him for a second but didn't say anything, instead kissing Kurt quickly.

After what had happened Blaine hadn't moved from Kurt's side; on the way to the hospital he'd held Kurt's hand tightly the whole time, and even when they'd been stitching him up he'd kept his hand at Kurt's back. Kurt felt relieved that Blaine was there too. When he'd asked why Blaine was suddenly so clingy he already knew the answer.

"I thought I was going to lose you." Blaine had whispered, lacing their hands together, the ghost of a glint of fear returning to his eyes. "I cannot . . . I was so scared."

Kurt had nodded and pressed a chaste kiss to Blaine's lips, pulling away just as his Dad had arrived.

The second attack had not affected Kurt as greatly as the first. This time Kurt had not been how he was before. The first attack had happened when he was at his most low—Kurt had believed then that what Karofsky did was something he'd deserved. But now, he knew that it had nothing to do with him. He'd come out of it even stronger.

They carried on as normal, putting it behind them. What hadn't killed them had only made them stronger, it seemed. Regionals came and went, along with the bittersweet result. Kurt was glad for New Directions, but he'd hoped the Warblers would win.

A few weeks later, Kurt found Blaine writing an essay in the common room. He sat down beside him, smiling back at Blaine when the shorter boy looked up from his work to kiss Kurt quickly on the cheek.

"Hey . . . how are you?" Blaine asked.

Kurt shrugged. "I'm OK." He folded his hands nervously. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something . . ."

Blaine's pen paused across the paper and his face dropped a little. He sighed. "Yeah, I know."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Blaine looked at him sadly. "You're going back. To McKinley."

There was silence. Kurt stared at Blaine, who looked back at him calmly. Kurt let out a shaky breath and looked down. "I have to . . ."

"I know." Blaine said heavily.

"It's just . . ." Kurt gestured silently, trying to find the words. "I came to Dalton so broken, so unsure of myself. It was what I needed. It fixed me." He nudged Blaine's shoulder. "_You _fixed me. But . . . There's nothing more for me here now. I knew I was going back someday, and now I think I'm strong enough to."

Blaine nodded. "And once you've made up your mind there's no changing it of course . . ."

Kurt laughed softly. "Of course . . ."

They were quiet again. Finally Blaine looked up. "Don't forget me." he whispered fearfully, clinging onto Kurt's hand tightly.

Kurt squeezed his hand and looked at him steadily. "Never."


	11. Epilogue

_My name is Kurt Hummel, and this is my statement. On the night of November 14__th__, I was attacked. My attacker was a man named Dave Karovfsky. That was six months ago._

Kurt rushed down the steps of McKinley's school yard exuberantly; the noises of McKinley's students hustling and bustling round him echoed in his ears. The New Directions were waiting at the bottom and he reached them, grinning.

They all rushed forward and hugged him, laughing and saying excitedly, "Welcome back, Kurt!" and "It's good to have you back, Kurt!"

"Let me breathe, let me breathe!" he giggled. Happiness bloomed in his chest. They stepped back and smiled at him. He gripped his bag strap tightly. "Oh, it's good to be back!"

"And there's a reason we're all out here . . ." Mercedes smiled. Kurt looked at her, puzzled, and then he turned.

On the top of the steps in the McKinley school yard stood the Warblers, Blaine standing at the front. They smiled down at Kurt.

_It was an unprovoked attack, and the result of a hatred Karovfsky possessed towards me. I didn't report it, I don't really know why; the fear of him coming back, probably. Only, he did. _

Kurt stared up at the Warblers in amazement, and couldn't help but smile when he looked at Blaine.

_On that night he followed me home. I was alone, it was dark, and he had a knife. I tried to fight back but. . . well. I tried. He was driven, and sought to kill me. I have an idea why._

"The Warblers wanted to say goodbye. They won't see you again—thankfully I will, but . . ." Blaine trailed off, his eyes turning sad. "We're going to miss you Kurt. The Warblers won't be the same without you. You . . . You made us a better team."

Kurt's smile trembled, and he felt tears prick at his eyes. Then Blaine started singing, the Warblers harmonising in the background, and Kurt felt his heart clench in his chest.

_The police have asked how I even survived the first time. I told them: I was saved. I was saved by a boy whom back then, I'd never even met before._

Blaine moved forward, still singing, his eyes hard and sad all at once. Kurt watched the Warblers move with Blaine as he suddenly ran down the steps past Kurt, taking over the band and playing the piano, all the while still singing.

In six months, Kurt had grown into a person he'd never thought he could become. In six months he'd conquered his demons and fought his war— and won. In six months he'd fallen in love with a boy just as brave as him. In six months, he'd found that he could be happy.

It didn't matter where he was—Dalton or McKinley. All that mattered was who was with him. He had Blaine, and he had his friends in the Glee club, and he had his new friends in the Warblers too. He was loved and he was not alone.

_Twice he's saved me from Karofvsky now._

The Warblers hugged him as they passed, saying goodbye. But it was only goodbye for now. He was going to see them again—maybe not at Dalton, but he would see them.

Then like it had come full circle Finn hugged him, welcoming him back home.

Kurt finally turned to Blaine. Blaine finished singing, the final note wavering slightly as tears filled his eyes. Kurt smiled tremulously and then launched himself at Blaine. Blaine gripped him back tightly, shaking slightly.

Kurt buried his face into Blaine's shoulder and whispered, "I'm never saying goodbye to you."

No matter what happened, Blaine would still be with Kurt. They had done this together, like everything else. From now on, Kurt would not go it alone.

_His name is Blaine Anderson, and he's been saving me ever since._


End file.
